When the Body Forces Surrender
Being sick brings grief closer.
The quiet. The stillness. The care you miss.
Some days, rest is the bravest thing you can do.
I have a cold right now.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing horrible. Just a cold.
There are moments when I feel okay, and then moments when my nose is dripping and my body aches and everything feels off. It’s not a terrible cold. It’s just enough to make me feel not right.
Being sick as a widowed person is so different than being sick when your person is here. Illness, no matter how mild, reaches places that are already hurting.
When I was sick before, before Gary took his last breath, he took care of me. He would get me a blanket. He would make tea and toast. He’d run to the pharmacy if I asked. He might complain about it, but he’d still go.
He would sit with me while we watched garbage on TV. He would be right there with me.
That quiet care mattered more than I knew at the time.
Now, when I’m sick as a widow, all of that is gone.
The house is painfully quiet. It gets dirtier around me. All the care is up to me. And that really sucks.
When your body is depleted and your energy is gone, grief can overwhelm you. Taking care of yourself can feel nearly impossible. The first few times I was sick after Gary died, it completely broke me.
I remember thinking, I’m the only one who gets to take care of me forever.
It felt unfair. It felt too hard. Much harder than I could handle. It felt like one more thing I did not sign up for.
Being sick forces you to stop.
You can’t put on a happy face and push through it. There’s no pretending you’re fine. There’s no powering your way out of it. Your body says no. You’re going to be sick.
And instantly, grief shows up.
Grief understands that language too.
Grief will show up even when you try to push through and pretend you’re fine. Just like sickness, grief will find its way to the surface.
I’ve learned that struggle can feel like movement. It can feel good to be doing something, to feel like something is happening. But struggling against sickness, or struggling against grief, is a waste of energy. Especially when we’re already worn down.
The more I resist what’s happening in my body, the worse it feels. The more I fight rest, the longer recovery takes.
Sometimes the only answer is non movement.
Lying still. Letting your body feel what it feels. Letting the rain fall. Letting the day be what it is.
That doesn’t mean giving up.
It means surrendering to what’s real. It means allowing your body, your mind, and your spirit to experience what they need to experience.
I don’t always trust this part. Some days it feels like nothing is holding me at all. Like I am just floating through sickness and grief with no ground beneath my feet.
But when I let myself stop long enough, I notice there is something underneath all of it that hasn’t given way.
Lately, there has been a part of me that feels more rooted than I expected.
It doesn’t feel like strength. It feels more like being close to the ground. Heavy in my body. Still. Not going anywhere.
When I let myself rest there, something softens. I don’t have to figure anything out. I don’t have to push or fix or make meaning of the day.
Without that steadiness, nothing else works. Not endurance. Not clarity. Not the ability to keep going.
I’ve realized that what’s holding me is love.
At first, it was the love I have for Gary. That love didn’t disappear when he died. It settled into me. And over time, I’ve had to learn how to let that same care turn inward.
I didn’t want Gary’s death to be the thing that broke me. So I started trying to take care of myself the way he took care of me. Slowly. Imperfectly. One sick day at a time.
That care has become a kind of foundation.
And from there, things can grow. Not quickly. Not easily. But steadily.
My body has carried a lot.
It has carried love.
It has carried loss.
It has carried grief.
And sometimes, it carries illness.
And still, it breathes.
Still, life moves slowly and quietly through it.
Even here.
If you’re reading this and thinking, yes, this is me, I want you to know you don’t have to figure everything out at once.
I created a free eBook called Exploring the Widowed Life for moments like this.
It’s a quiet guide for people grieving the death of a partner. It walks through six areas where grief often shows up, like identity, relationships, daily life, and the future. This isn’t a checklist or a program. It’s meant to be a companion for the days when everything feels broken and you don’t know where to begin.
Each section includes simple reflections and soft questions to help you feel seen and supported. If you’re feeling lost in your grief, this guide might help you notice where the hurt is loudest and where care and steadiness might slowly take root.
You can download it for free here: