We were together for ten years — three dating and seven married. Between us, we had six children in a blended family. It was complicated but full of love, or so I thought. She used to say the kids were the problem — or that I allowed them to be.
We both believed in mindfulness, in staying calm, in working things through. But somewhere along the way, the silence between us grew louder than the love. Maybe she wanted out long before I realized it. When she left, I became the ghosted one.
I’ve already lost my parents and siblings to drugs and suicide, but somehow, this loss cut deeper. Maybe because I was conscious through it all — watching everything I’d built disappear piece by piece. At 61, I’m still trying to make sense of it, still trying to stand on my own two feet.
Grief has a way of reshaping you. I’m learning to breathe through the pain, to find small moments of peace, and to believe that maybe there’s still something ahead of me worth living for.
— David, 61, Santa Fe, NM
