I've Got This Handled: A Journey Through Loss

Grief is nothing but a celebration of love. The amount I've spoken about my late husband in the past five years with friends—old and new—and family, of course, is endless. From Milo milkshakes to Tumi bags, to all our holidays and every restaurant he ever took me to in my life—everything has been written about, spoken about, and photographed so much that people around me are either tired, amused, or irritated. 

I can't help it though: a) I'm a chatterbox, and b) it was probably a good marriage/relationship, even though we had our share of fights. That one man made me realise I can love fiercely, intensely, and give it my all. All of me truly did love all of him, to quote John Legend. Either he brought out all that love from within me, or I was raised by a suffocatingly loving family—it's a combination of both I guess.

When I think of my late husband, I think of him with love and almost zero hate. In the past five years, I've forgiven him for abruptly dying on me and our son, and in that forgiveness, I've found peace. I wonder which stage of grief I'm in now—perhaps it's acceptance. I'm at peace with having a husband who passed five years ago; I no longer curse him when I have to take decisions alone for my family of two. 

Rest in peace, Poopie. I think I've got this handled—life and motherhood, I mean.