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How can I go on when I’m leaving the better part of me behind?


That was the question I was asking myself one February morning while loading my four children into the van for a ten-hour trip to Michigan. We had buried my wife, Janiece, just two months earlier and we were in our season of “firsts” . . . first Christmas without her, first New Year without her, and now first road trip without her. 


I was trying to sort out my feelings about what “going on” would look like and whether I was up to the challenge. And even though I knew Janiece had entered the presence of God and didn’t really reside in the cemetery, I was still reluctant to leave the state where she was buried. I couldn’t help but feel that it was wrong to put so many miles between us. 

This trip was another reminder that I was facing a new life without her at my side, and I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t want to go forward. Back felt safer, happier, familiar.

But I had no choice.

That was a lot of years ago. We’ve been on many trips since. The van is long gone, having been replaced with an SUV, and three more since. And the carseat that held my son has been upgraded to a new model for my grandsons.

But enough about me; this blog is for you.

I don’t know how long you’ve been on your journey, how many miles or months you’ve logged since your loved one passed, but I suppose you too have wrestled with the How can I go on? question. 

I won’t promise a short or easy answer. I’ll just offer my compassion and a few words that I trust you'll find helpful.

Tim Grissom

December 2021

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