“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

Besides “my thoughts and prayers are with you”, this is the second most common reaction to the news of my 34-year-old husband’s unexpected death.  Both are comments I’ve said myself, many times, because it’s what we say.  When we don’t have words, the common phrases we’ve heard before come out instead.

But here is a glimpse, what it’s like, day-by-day, after losing your husband one random night in April.

• It’s like having your gut slashed open, with the whole world sitting in the audience, watching.

• It’s like being on a perfectly blissful luxury train, with silk curtains, and crystal wine glasses, and endless books and entertainment to pass the time until you reach your destination of paradise.  And in the middle of the journey, the train suddenly derails down a cliff.

• It’s like having filet mignon for every meal for the last 15 years.  Then someone suddenly handing you a jar of bad pickles to replace every meal for the remainder of your life.  And eventually, you can eat the pickles with other things, like as a condiment on a great burger, and maybe with a great steak later on.  But you will always have to eat the bad pickles, with every meal, from now on.

• It’s losing a pound a day for a week.

• It’s suddenly having to open up every detail of your finances to someone else.

• It’s being surrounded by love, hugs, and prayers from hundreds of friends and family, and still feeling completely alone.

• It’s spilling tears onto a lot of chests.

• It’s having to search through your husband’s phone and his playlists, praying some song jumps out at you to play at the memorial service you never discussed.

• It’s realizing your husband’s entire life has to be summarized in one obituary, and one little program for his service.

• It’s looking in the mirror and feeling satisfied because you at least have on pants and a shirt.

• It’s having to time the announcement on social media.  Because that’s where half the world gets their news, it seems.

• It’s having to explain to credit card companies, utility companies, banks, and creditors over and over and over again.

• It’s wondering how you explain to your dog that her best friend isn’t coming through the door ever again.

• It’s needing to hang on to both of your parents, holding you up on either side, just so you can put one foot in front of the other, as you take the longest walk down the aisle, out of his memorial service.

• It’s remembering the last time your dad walked you down the aisle, 10 years before, and suddenly feeling more pain for him.

• It’s second guessing every decision with, “Is that what Chris would have wanted?”

• It’s trusting your gut more than you ever needed to before.

• It’s learning to use the word “widow” as soon as the paramedics broke the news, and tasting it’s horrible taste every time it leaves your mouth.

• It’s wishing some friends would talk less, and others would talk more.

• It’s accepting help from others for the first time in your life, because it doesn’t matter if the towels are folded in thirds, that the forks point down, that the knives are staggered, or that the pillows are fluffed.

• It’s feeling like someone in charge has broken all the rules of life.

• It’s realizing he was the better half.

• It’s desperately trying to remember every conversation you ever had.

• It’s finding solace in the fact that your last day together was absolutely perfect.

• It’s still having rug burn on your knee two weeks later from where you gave him chest compressions for 10 minutes, waiting for help to arrive.

• It’s hoping there is such a thing as ghosts.

• It’s feeling like the word “FRAGILE” is tattooed across your forehead.

• It’s wondering why God needed someone in heaven who loved to share their testimony on Earth.

• It’s walking out of the house, ready to take on the day, only to realize you don’t have on shoes.

• It’s suddenly missing the crumbs on the couch.

• It’s making references to Grey’s Anatomy to explain your feelings to others, and feeling guilty because of how shallow it must sound.

• It’s feeling relieved when someone offers to help with something specific, rather than just saying, “How can I help?”

• It’s walking barefoot through the grass just to feel the sensation he loved.

• It’s revisiting the anger stage of grief when the credit card company asks if they can help by lowering the interest rate, rather than closing the account like you asked.

• It’s suddenly having to use words like “casket”, “beneficiary”, “decedent”, “probate”,  and “testamentary”.

• It’s realizing the only thing keeping you together is prayer.

• It’s being grateful for the never-ending line of visitors.

• It’s wondering why God would take a man that was this adored, respected, revered, and loved by others.

• It’s staring at pictures of your fairy tale marriage with your personal Prince Charming, because the pictures are all that’s left.

• It’s knowing people are right when they tell you, “God has a plan,” but still wanting to punch them in the face.

• It’s knowing deep down you’re going to get through it.

• It’s forever wishing you didn’t have to “get through it”, but could be skipping through life with the love of your life, like you were just 3 weeks ago.

• It’s wondering how long you’ll feel unbearably broken, like someone has taken a steel beam to your abdomen.

• It’s seeing how painful this must be for your parents to watch, and feeling so relieved when they refuse to leave your house.

• It’s standing, sitting, lying, just waiting for a direction.

• It’s knowing God will use this somehow, in some amazing way, but wishing He didn’t have to.