Don’t Call Me a Widow – Part 35–

End of the Week

The idea of “family” doesn’t always match the reality we end up living. I grew up in a family that bonded tightly. Even when tensions ran high or personalities clashed, we still showed up for one another. Joy and grief were shared spaces, and kindness was a rule we were expected to live by. My parents, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents — the leaders of our mispacha — held those values firmly in place.

But as they passed on, something shifted. The rules blurred. The kindness faded. The foundation I trusted began to fracture.

Since losing my brother in September, I haven’t been able to fully mourn, grieve, or move forward. The loss itself was devastating and unexpected, but the legal aftermath has turned everything into chaos. My heart stays with my niece — the daughter I never had — and her children, who are also suspended in their grief, unable to move forward. The law favors the spouse, and she has chosen to shut us out. Whether intentional or simply a disconnection, the result is the same: we are on the outside of a life we were once part of.

Every day I ask myself where the love and kindness went — the very values I was raised to uphold. And I wonder why this loss feels so much heavier because one person has taken control of what should have been shared.

Loss isn’t only about death. It’s the ending of relationships. It’s a shift in identity. It’s watching a dream turn into a nightmare. It’s being pushed out of your comfort zone and forced to find new tools for survival.

Loss is sadness, but in this case it’s also anger and confusion — trying to heal my own pain while watching others suffer beside me. Loss is the numbness I sometimes wish I could feel that a protective bandage that might soften the fatigue, the stress, and the sleepless nights.

Losing Joel has hurt more deeply than I ever imagined. It has thrust me into responsibilities I wasn’t prepared for and pathways I never expected to navigate. And before I could even begin to resolve that grief, it was compounded by losing Rich.

I keep moving forward, but the sadness remains. Each day I make a conscious effort not to let grief consume me. My love and admiration for my brother remind me that I don’t need to feel sorrow every moment to honor him. I can turn that sadness into something meaningful — something that reflects who we were together. I feel Rich’s energy urging me to be the best version of myself, and I feel my brother’s steady pull reminding me to stay true to who I am.

For these two remarkable men, I carry deep gratitude. Their love continues to guide me.

Join me as we walk this path together.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen

Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com