Tag: healing

“Mile Cry Club”

From Takeoff to Tides: Riding the Waves of Healing the Best You Can

On a recent flight home after an amazing senior spring break with my daughter, I suddenly found myself sobbing in the airplane lavatory mid-flight. Sure, there were multiple logical reasons for this emotional outburst. It was nearly 2:00 am, and I was exhausted after a week-long vacation, a full day of international travel and countless delays. I could feel a cold coming on and had just finished a “happily ever after” book that left me a little weepy. But there was something deeper behind the tears. Something that came on strong and drove me to the privacy of the tiny airplane bathroom.

Whether I chalk it up to out-of-the-blue turbulence as I grieve the loss of my husband, the loneliness of exploring new destinations without him or the sting of his absence on these milestone adventures, airplane tears have become my routine since Matt passed. Trying to compose myself before heading back to my seat, I realized I’ve teared up at some point on every one of the handful of flights I’ve taken in the almost two years since he died.

Why is this? Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s the quiet isolation of cruising above the clouds or maybe it’s the way travel magnifies the absence of someone you wish were there. Something about sitting suspended between destinations, surrounded by strangers, makes the ache sharper and the memories louder. Each flight has become a space for me where joy and sorrow collide. Where I celebrate new experiences while carrying the bittersweet weight of missing my person.

Learning to “Hang Ten”

Often, these unexpected waves of grief come out of nowhere. You might be driving, walking down the street—or, in my case, soaring at 40,000 feet—when suddenly, it hits. There’s not always an obvious trigger. You don’t need to hear their favorite song or stumble across something that reminds you of them. For some reason, it just crashes over you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

But from my own journey, and from swapping stories with fellow grievers, I’ve learned a handful of ways to lessen the intensity when these waves come crashing in:

  • Ride the Wave: Instead of resisting, let the emotion wash over you. Picture it as a powerful ocean wave. It will rise, crest and, eventually, fade.
  • Feel It Out: Give yourself the green light to feel whatever comes—sadness, anger or even total overwhelm—without judgment.
  • Care for Yourself: Lean into gentle habits like deep breathing, journaling or simply giving yourself some “me time.”
  • Reach Out: Touch base with friends, family or support groups who understand that grief is not linear and has no timeline.
  • Honor the Memory: Recognize that this sudden ache is proof of how very deeply you loved.

So, remember, just because those sudden, overwhelming waves of grief crash into you doesn’t mean you’re stuck or doing something wrong. It means you’re actively navigating the messy, lasting impact of losing someone who meant the world to you.

These moments, like my unintentional creation of the “mile cry club,” are proof that, even when it doesn’t feel like it, we have the courage to keep moving forward. Each wave reminds us of the depth of our love and the bittersweet ache of absence. So, ride it out, feel the feels, practice self-care and connect with others when you need to.

Grief isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a reflection of your humanity and your ability to carry both sorrow and joy on the journey. Honor that and keep trying to “hang ten.” Because healing is not about avoiding the waves but riding them with heart.

“Boxing Out After Loss”

How Shared Moments on the Court Shape Resilience and Remembrance

“Bumping into the box.” This is a phrase I recently picked up from another widow, and it hit home. Grief feels like a big box sitting right in the middle of your life. At first, it’s massive. You can’t help but crash into it every time you try to move. Bruised shins, stubbed toes, the whole deal. As time passes, the box shrinks a bit, and you sometimes find yourself navigating around it more easily. You still bump into it. Maybe not as hard, but it stings, sometimes worse than before.

In those moments, it’s an unexpected jolt of grief that sneaks up and catches you off guard. It’s opening the mailbox and seeing your spouse’s name on a piece of mail. It’s hearing a song that takes you right back to moments shared together. Or walking into a place you haven’t been since you were there with them, and suddenly, you’re back in that memory, the loss pressing in all over again.

I’m nearly two years out from losing my husband, Matt, and although the box isn’t as weighty as it once was, it’s still there. I bump into it regularly. Lately, I’ve had several run-ins with the box throughout our daughter Emma’s senior basketball season, which just came to an end last night at the regional playoffs.

Emma has always enjoyed sports, but she didn’t pick up a basketball in any formal way until we moved to Grand Rapids when she was in fifth grade. She joined a rec league with a bunch of her club soccer friends, and by her second season, Matt was recruited as their coach. He was a natural, and the girls hung on his every word as he transformed a group of soccer players into a solid basketball squad.

Even when Emma and our younger daughter, Maddie, weren’t playing in organized leagues, Matt was always helping them work on their game. They’d spend hours shooting hoops in our driveway or he’d take them to the Y, where they’d run through plays and practice free throws. For Matt, this wasn’t a chore. He genuinely loved every minute, and the girls did too.

Through middle and high school, even when Matt wasn’t officially Emma’s coach, he was always in her corner. Pre-game pep talks at the kitchen table, scribbled plays on scrap paper, encouraging texts before tip-off. After games, Matt was the first person she wanted to talk to for feedback on what she did well, what she could improve on and how to step up her game.

Last year, Emma had her first season without Matt, and I know she missed him. But this senior year? The box felt bigger. Her Senior Night a couple weeks ago was beautiful, yet bittersweet. She was all smiles, escorted by her siblings and me, but we all felt Matt’s absence. When Maddie got called up from JV to join Emma on varsity for the playoffs and their team clinched the District Championship last week, I could almost hear Matt’s voice cheering them on as they cut down the net. He would’ve been right there, grinning from ear to ear.

When grief catches you off guard in moments like this, here’s my advice: don’t bottle it up. Find someone who understands or at least is willing to sit with you and listen as you explain what “bumping into the box” means to you. Let yourself feel it, talk it out and don’t hold back from sharing.

That’s how you keep moving forward—step by step, bump by bump—instead of letting grief knock you flat and keep you there. Sometimes, the best way through is to simply remember that you’re not alone on the court. There are people ready to help you find your footing so you can take the next shot when you’re ready.