Ten Years Without my Husband Rick: Grief, Love & Finding the Light

Hello friends,

Ten years ago today, I lost my husband Rick to suicide.

A decade feels like both a lifetime and a single, suspended breath and today I want to break the silence, not just for me, but for everyone who carries a loss they never saw coming.

But I also want you to know a little about the wonderful man I spent twenty years of my life with. Never forgotten.

Rick was the kind of man who made every room warmer just by being in it. He was funny in that effortless way that caught you off guard and made you laugh when you least expected it. He was smart, selfless and quietly hardworking – the person who showed up, always, without needing to be asked. When life called for reinvention and I went back to school and changed careers, Rick was supportive and my biggest cheerleader.

He was an avid reader, always with a book nearby, always curious about the world which is probably why he always won at Trivial Pursuit. He had a remarkable gift for knowing a little about everything and a lot about nothing in particular. He was a die-hard New York Mets fan who took his fantasy baseball very seriously. (He lived in Canada but grew up in New York state.)

But more than anything, he was a devoted dad to our daughter Maya and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was loved unconditionally. Her biggest fan, her soccer coach, the one on the sideline who believed in her the loudest. Whatever she did, he was there. Maya was 13 when her Dad died and is now 23 and I am happy to report that she is thriving. The biggest compliment I receive when anyone meets her is that she is a joy to be around and I “did good.” Those words mean everything because the years after Rick died weren’t kind to either of us. Solo parenting through the teen years is difficult enough, but throw traumatic grief in there, and some days just getting out of bed was an act of courage. But there is light at the end of the tunnel. I promise you.

As the years have gone by, I’ve felt Rick slowly fade – his name spoken less, his face growing distant in other people’s minds, his existence slowly dimming in a world that has moved on.

Grief after suicide loss is its own particular kind of wilderness. There is loss, yes but also confusion, guilt, anger, shame, blame and questions that will never have answers. For a long time I carried all of it quietly, because suicide still carries a silence around it that it doesn’t deserve. But silence doesn’t protect anyone. It just leaves the hurting more alone.

So if you are reading this and you have lost someone the same way, I want you to know: you are not alone. The love you had was real. The loss you carry is real. And you are allowed to grieve loudly, softly, angrily, openly or all of those things at once.

Ten years has taught me that healing is not a straight line. It is not forgetting, and it is not moving on. It is learning to carry someone with you in a new way – to remember all the good they brought to your life (and you to theirs.) Not to have their death define who they were. Rick was so much more than his hardest moments. And I need the world to know that. And even though it’s been ten years and people think you should be “over it.” There is no timeline for grief. I still find these deathiversary dates the hardest. I think about what Rick had been feeling up until this day and the trauma that unfolded after. But the memories of that time are starting to fade and that is a good thing. I prefer to remember Rick’s life and not how he ended it.

Losing Rick changed me in so many ways. It made me more empathetic and more attuned to the quiet pain that people carry behind their smiles. I don’t know how many people confided that either they or someone close to them has struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts.

It taught me to embrace life more fully, to hold the people I love a little closer, to not let ordinary moments pass unnoticed. I have rebuilt a life I am proud of, one that has room for grief and gratitude, loss and love, all at once.

To Rick, thank you for the years we had. Thank you for your support and every quiet act of love. You are missed in ways words can’t quite hold.

If you would like to read the other posts I have written about losing Rick, please go here. I really wish I had written more about grief during this decade as I know my posts have been helpful for many. If you are a long time reader of this blog (which I hope to revive soon), thank you for your continued support and love.

With love, always.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out. You do not have to carry it alone.

Canada: Call or text 9-8-8 for the Suicide Crisis Helpline, 24/7. See Canadian resources here and here.

US: Call or text 9-8-8for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7.