What to Expect When You Lose Someone You Love: Expect the Unexpected
Grief doesn’t follow a straight line. It twists, turns, doubles back, and sometimes drops you into places you never imagined. To travel this road, you need to keep your tank filled—rest, nourishment, support—because the journey includes potholes, detours, and dead ends you can’t predict.
Sometimes your internal GPS simply stops working. When that happens, don’t be surprised. Find people who can help you navigate when you can’t see the road yourself.
Some people experience grief as a tidal wave—sobs, tremors, an emotional earthquake that shakes them to their core. Others remain dry‑eyed, numb, or eerily calm. That’s often labeled “shock,” and I believe that’s where I’m living right now.
There is no timetable for grief, no matter how many well‑meaning voices urge us to “move on,” “get over it,” or “let the memories carry us forward.” Moving on—however slowly, however shakily—is part of living. Even in shock, I’m taking steps into tomorrow because I am still here.
For some, the emotional roller coaster is visible to everyone around them. For others, it’s internal and silent. Either way, it’s essential that we don’t judge our own emotions or allow anyone else to judge them. There is no normal. Yesterday I wrote about that very question, and the truth remains: each of us must find our own map.
My path may not look like yours. Your way of facing loss may not resemble mine. We each get to choose the route that feels right for us.
Time can help heal—but only if we participate in the healing. Time alone, without effort or intention, can deepen the hurt and keep us stuck. Accepting help, guidance, and support is part of that effort. I’m not naturally good at asking for help—I’m usually the one who shows up for others—but I’m learning to reach for the hands extended toward me.
Not everyone will be open to hearing your grief story, but sharing it still matters. As your story unfolds, it may offer insight, comfort, or awareness to someone who needs it.
Self‑care is non‑negotiable. Each day I prepare myself—emotionally, physically, spiritually—for what could be, what might be, and what will be. Keeping myself together, inside and out, is one way I honor my loss.
I am my own expert on this new road I’m paving. I carry my memories and the love I shared with my husband, just as I carry the love of family and friends who have gone before him. I find comfort not only in the past but in the new pathways I will discover as I continue to live.
Forty‑two years of marriage is a lifetime. My life continues without Richard in physical form, but he is with me spiritually, woven into every step I take. And today, I’m choosing to take a new step—maybe even one that feels like a dance.
What In the World with Paul Seaburn 2/3/26 Cleveland13 News
What in the World with Paul Seaburn goes live today at approximately 3:30 PM Eastern. Join us in real time by clicking here:
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February 3, 2026, marks the beginning of an exciting new collaboration with Cleveland13 News WCTU.
WCTU’s mission is to empower and unite the community through reliable, unbiased, and engaging news coverage.
Paul Seaburn and his crew bring their own signature twist to that mission with “Real News, Sometimes Strange, Always Funny.” This segment/podcast is designed purely for your entertainment—smart, quirky, and delightfully off‑beat.
Today’s show is sponsored by:
- “What Would You Say to a Naked Alien?” www.paulseaburn.com
- Henriette Ivanans‑McIntyre, author of a powerful and vulnerable personal journey
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Henriette+Ivanans-McIntyre - #yesican Coaching with Karen – Life coaching for real people navigating real transitions kh.yesican1@gmail.com
Follow us on YouTube and on Cleveland13 News as we continue growing, collaborating, and bringing you stories that inform, entertain, and spark conversation.
Obituary for Richard Alan Hale
Richard Alan Hale, beloved husband, father, brother, and friend, passed away on Monday, January 26, 2026, following a short illness. He was the cherished son of Edwin and Loretta Hale (née Maloney), devoted husband and best friend of Karen Moss Hale, and proud father of Steve Rogovin and Alex Hale. Richard and Karen would have celebrated 42 years of marriage on February 3, 2026.
Richard was preceded in death by his loving parents, his brothers Bob and David Hale (Anna Koteles Hale), his in-laws Harmon and Dorothy Moss, and most recently his brother-in-law Joel Moss (TL Pellegri).
Raised in the Lyndhurst and Orange school communities, Richard graduated from Orange High School in 1968. He went on to attend the University of Akron—twice—ultimately earning his Master’s in Higher Education in 2012, a milestone he pursued with determination and pride.
Richard began his professional life in the photo industry, where his love of imagery and creativity first took shape. His career later evolved into the field of information technology, where he served as an instructor, program developer, and support technician. His patience, curiosity, and willingness to help others defined his work and the many relationships he built along the way.
A man of gentle humor and simple joys, Richard loved music and comedy, and on any given day you could find him enjoying classic programs on MeTV. He had a gift for loyalty—if you were his friend, you remained his friend. He never detached, never drifted, and never stopped caring.
True to his spirit, Richard left one final request, a line that captures his wit and warmth:
“A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.”
He will be remembered for his kindness, his steadfast love for his family, his quirky humor, and the quiet, enduring way he showed up for the people he loved.
May his memory be a blessing to all who knew him.
Today We Said “until we meet again”
It is with a heavy heart that feels like a stone that I am sharing that my husband, my lover, my best friend has left this world as we know it and is climbing the stairway to heaven.
Rich Hale woke up on Saturday, January 17th telling me he had a sore throat. By evening he experienced extreme weakness in his legs. The next morning as he appeared to be getting sicker I took him to the ER where he was admitted with COVID.
The COVID in hours turned into Bronchial Pneumonia, and a week ago today, Monday, January 19th he suffered a cardiac arrest and never recovered.
Today at 2:45 pm he took his last breath alone.
Alex and I went up to the hospital to see him one last time in the flesh, but he already was transitioning and didn’t really look like my husband of 42 years.
I am in shock and aware of it. I am doing what I can to stay focused on what is necessary and what is not, and to allow those who want to help me along the way step in.
We will have a celebration of his Rich’s life in the Spring, we need time to process and begin the healing as this was sudden, unexpected, and extremely hard for Alex, Steve, and I.
Please hug the ones you love and don’t keep your love a secret – We Never Did!
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Why Do I Keep Saying Yes? A Lesson I’m Still Learning
11 January 2026
Why Do I Keep Saying Yes? A Lesson I’m Still Learning
Sometimes the only honest place to begin is with a question: Why?
Why am I doing work you’re fully capable of doing yourself?
Why do I jump in to help when my own needs go unnoticed?
Why do I expect you to know what I want without me ever saying it out loud?
Why am I so afraid of “flipping your switch”—or is it really my own switch I’m trying not to trigger?
Why do I feel anger rising in me while you sit there smiling, untouched by the weight I’m carrying?
And the biggest question of all: Is the problem you… or is it me?
These are the moments that send me back to my journal, back to my blog, back to the work I do as a Life Coach. Because the truth I’ve learned—over and over—is that most of the time, the issue isn’t “them.”
It’s us.
It’s the patterns we’ve built.
It’s the roles we’ve rehearsed for decades.
It’s the quiet ways we allow ourselves to be used, even unintentionally, because we’re trying to keep the happiness scale balanced.
Today was one of those days.
I was sitting in my office doing tasks for my husband. He never asked. I volunteered. At first, it felt fine—helpful, even. But the deeper I got into it, the more irritated I became. Not with myself, but with him. And that’s when I had to pull the brake.
Not on the task.
On my reaction.
If I’m going to be angry, the anger belongs with me.
I took on something I didn’t need to take on.
I expected him to say, “No honey, I’ll do it.”
He didn’t.
And why would he? I already said I would handle it.
It reminded me of old workplace patterns—me hunkering down to do my job and someone else’s, while they watched gratefully from the sidelines. No one offered help because I had already stepped into the role.
I’m still learning—sometimes the hard way—when to offer, when to step back, and when to say no. I’m also learning not to blame others for the expectations I create.
So, I paused.
I breathed.
I looked out my office window and let the wind carry away the frustration, the disappointment, the heaviness in my chest. Anger has a way of settling into the body, and I could feel exactly where it lived. With each breath, I let it move out.
And then I remembered something I’ve known for years but still forget:
The toughest enemy I’ve ever faced is myself.
There is no room in my life for self‑punishment.
Not anymore.
Letting go—physically and emotionally—isn’t easy. But it’s necessary.
And it takes time.
So, if you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words, take this as a gentle reminder:
- Give yourself grace.
- Understand your patterns.
- Release the anger that isn’t serving you.
- And breathe your way back to yourself.
#yesican Coaching with Karen
A Clear Day, A Clear Mind, A Clear Purpose
Waking up to sunshine, melting snow, and temperatures warmer than expected brought an unexpected lift to my morning. It reminded me of something David McNally shared on How to SuperAge (https://youtu.be/UByP_9KShfY): finding one positive thought each day, no matter our circumstances, can shift us toward a happier, more content, more purposeful life.
I’ve lived by this philosophy for years. It keeps me grounded in what I can control—my thoughts. And when those thoughts become clouded by physical or emotional challenges, reaching for help is not weakness; it’s a choice toward clarity. I believe deeply in choosing the supports that help us see more clearly.
There’s a line from a familiar song that has always stayed with me: “On a clear day you can see forever…” That clarity—literal and emotional—is the foundation of purposeful living. Sometimes we just need someone to help us see what’s already right in front of us. A guide. A coach. A compassionate voice reminding us that perspective is powerful.
It has taken me many years to understand why holidays and special occasions have often felt heavy. Expectations—those storybook images we carry—set me up for disappointment when reality didn’t match the script. As a child, I was known as a crier, and disappointment only amplified the tears.
With age and a bit of earned wisdom, I’ve learned to soften those expectations and stay present. It’s not always easy, but it’s liberating.
This holiday season was gentle. Lighting the Chanukah candles brought me back to childhood—my dad reciting blessings, all of us singing “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel.” Christmas was quiet and heartfelt, just time with my husband and simple connections with family through calls, texts, and social media. New Year’s didn’t need champagne or fanfare; preparing food for my husband and son and acknowledging the close of 2025 and the start of 2026 felt meaningful enough.
Now we return to “normal”—whatever that means. My work through podcasting, coaching, and blogging continues to give me purpose. But normal also includes guiding my older brother through his health challenges from more than a thousand miles away. It’s not simple, and it’s certainly not something any of us are trained for.
And I know I’m not alone. So many of you are supporting aging parents, spouses, siblings, or adult children. Often we learn as we go, and by the time we find one answer, three new questions appear. The system is complicated, and the emotional weight is real.
I’ve always said I was lucky with my parents and brothers. Our bond has been strong, loving, and full of passionate care. But that same level of care should come from our medical teams and our communities—and too often, it doesn’t.
Maybe that’s the path opening for me in 2026. A new avenue. A new purpose. A clearer day ahead.
When You Least Expect It- Feelings
When you least expect it, the quiet settles in. A heaviness creeps up from somewhere you can’t quite name, and suddenly you realize what’s missing: your son or daughter has just walked out the door and headed back to their own life. Home for them might be across the country, a few hours down the highway, or simply across town—but the moment they cross that threshold into their world, something inside you shifts. The house feels different. You feel different.
I learned this ache early on. When my oldest moved in with his dad—because sometimes divorce makes decisions you never wanted to make—I cried every single time he left. Even weekend visits or school breaks, no matter how joyful, ended with that familiar tearing sensation, as if I were losing an arm or a leg. Sometimes both. And even now, with him grown and thriving, that same hollow feeling still rises after a visit. Love doesn’t age out of longing.
Then came the day my youngest moved out after living with us for 30 years while building his career. I thought the grief might swallow me whole. The sobs that came from my gut were unlike anything I expected—raw, primal, overwhelming. I remember thinking, I can’t do this for the rest of my life. So, I worked at it. I learned to understand the good-byes, to soften the edges of the separation. And while it has gotten easier, the ache never fully disappears.
Today, as he pulled away to return to his own life—his career, his home, his independence—I felt that familiar gnawing in my stomach. And he’s not even two hours away. Distance doesn’t measure love; it only measures miles.
The truth is, we both know we need our separateness. He calls regularly, and I do my best to wait for those calls, to respect the boundaries of his adult life. But I’m still a mother. Sometimes I text or call first, and yes, sometimes it annoys him. But reaching out is part of how I love and letting go is part of how he grows.
This is the dance of parenting adult children—holding on, letting go, and learning to live in the space between.
I’ve noticed on Facebook that I’m far from alone in these emotions. So many mothers are feeling that same post‑holiday ache as our families slip back into their routines and the house settles into its quieter rhythm. We all understand that change is part of our evolution, but that doesn’t mean we automatically know how to navigate it. Growth doesn’t come with a manual.
As I write this, the tears have softened a bit. Maybe it’s because I’m reminding myself that tomorrow will come, and with it, the life my husband and I share in this home—just the two of us. I have a purpose that extends beyond motherhood. I am still me, and that identity deserves space, attention, and care.
If sadness shows up between the smiles, if tears mingle with moments of joy, that’s okay. That’s real. That’s living. And living fully means embracing the whole spectrum—the love, the longing, the laughter, and the letting go.
Caring is sharing, and sharing is caring—words I’ve repeated often because they continue to ring true. When something stirs inside me, I feel compelled to express it, to put it into language that others can walk through, reflect on, and maybe even find themselves in.
Some people turn to scripture, poetry, or music to soothe the swirl of emotions that life stirs up. I turn inward. I sift through my own thoughts, my own stories, and from that place I create the tools that help me keep moving—one step, one breath, one moment at a time.
#yesican Coaching with Karen
D5 Creation