Tuesdays Used to Be... Just Tuesdays

The Ordinary Becomes Sacred

Tuesdays used to be just Tuesdays.

A day like any other, caught between Monday’s groan and the slow coast toward the weekend. Forgettable. Skipped over. Ordinary. Until it wasn’t.

Because when your husband is born on a Tuesday and dies on a Tuesday ,the day becomes something else entirely.

It carries weight. It holds memories. It aches.

More Than One Tuesday

He lived approximately 2,173 Tuesdays. I had the honour of being part of 1,743 of them. That’s a lot of Tuesdays.

And yet, when we speak of him now, it’s mostly of the Tuesday he died. But he did so much more than die on a Tuesday. There is so much more in between. So much more to the man than the first and the last Tuesday.

He lived.

He really lived.

He Laughed, He Loved, He Served

He laughed out loud, giggled like a kid, had the best wit.

He held pain silently, but cried when he spoke of our love, our children, our grandchildren. He ran miles and miles, always chasing something more than a finish line. He served people with his whole heart. He saw the one who was hurting, the one who felt invisible, the one who just needed someone to show up.

He mentored, encouraged, held space in ways I still can’t explain.

He got angry, when it mattered. He loved deeply, without condition. He was selfless. Smart. Kind. He had a quick wit which he used on me often and I could not help but laugh (most times). He wasn’t perfect. I know I make him sound that way. But my heart wants to honour everything he was in the most special way possible. We weren’t perfect. But we were perfect for each other.

We got each other. He was mine. My forever. I was his.

He loved me until his last breath.

The Echoes of Tuesdays

Now, every Tuesday carries a kind of echo. It’s quieter than it used to be. Not as sharp as it once was. Grief, I’ve learned, softens its edges when we see it, feel it, let it settle into our hearts. But the ache, the ache still remains.

And somehow, even in that ache, Tuesday still gives me pieces of him.

Memories we shared. Moments we built .Ordinary routines that now feel sacred.

Learning to Live with the Sting

I’ve grown used to the sting. I don’t dread Tuesdays like I once did. I still feel them, like a low hum under my skin.

But I’m grateful for each one. Each moment Each minute. Each hour of any day of the week.

Time feels different now. It means more. And I think I pay more attention.

Tuesdays bring a mix of missing and remembering, a strange marriage of pain and beauty.

Because Tuesday will always be the day I lost him. But it will also always be the day he arrived in this world.

Every week, I get to remember that he lived.

Fully. Beautifully. Faithfully. For 2,173 Tuesdays.

And I was lucky enough to be part of 1,743 of them.

What a gift. What an ache. What a love.

Time Feels Different Now

Now you can see, for me, grief has changed the way I look at time.

I don’t live in years or months anymore. I live in before and after. In how many Tuesdays since he died. How many sunrises I’ve watched alone.

Time doesn’t feel linear. It loops, folds in on itself.

Some days stretch endlessly. Others pass in a blur.

I feel every hour in my bones because it’s another hour without him, but also another hour I get to be here. To live this beautiful, aching life.

Doing the Math, Feeling the Weight

I catch myself doing the math, as if the numbers might explain something. I am not a math person. But I’ve counted the days, the milestones never shared.

And this year, I’ll turn 64.Older than he ever got to be.

That hits somewhere deep. It steals my breath.

I’m stepping into year she never touched. Carrying a life he had to leave behind.

I appreciate life more now. Its fragile, fleeting beauty.

But I won’t pretend the ache has gone quiet. It still hurts like hell that he’s not here with me.

The Cruel, Beautiful Tension

There is a cruel tension in grieving. We love life more deeply because of what it took from us.

We are grateful, even while our hearts break quietly over and over again.

But friends, we are still here. Still walking forward. Still holding their memory close.

Some days, the weight of time feels unbearable.

Because with every tick of the clock, every birthday, every ordinary moment, comes a widening space between us and them.

Love That Sustains

Grief has taught me that even in the depths of pain, there is still life to be lived, and a love that never leaves.

And that love sustains me.

With love,

Kath