I Bought a Beautiful Bouquet for Me Today
I bought myself flowers today—a most beautiful bouquet made by a friend at her farm. I didn’t know exactly why I felt compelled to; I no longer get flowers from my best guy and I miss that terribly, but my kids—especially one—often bring bunches of flowers home for me. But today, I felt the need to hold space for a few things: a quiet celebration in my heart for something monumental, a moment where I gave myself permission to say no for the good of many, and the fact that I made it through another week filled with significant transitions.
Maybe, though, I bought flowers to hold space for something—or someone—else today.
In a few days, we’ll celebrate another birthday of my beloved Jon—without him here. Maybe by now you know how much we love to celebrate birthdays. Time hasn’t yet proved that it heals wounds, and I wonder if it ever will. I’m learning that grief is a companion that doesn’t leave but changes over time. And perhaps the most unexpected part—there are many #widowlife—of losing Jon has been realizing that I lost more than just him; I lost a part of myself, too. I definitely lost half of myself. As time continues forward, I see it more.
That’s what I’m sitting with today. As I hold this stunning bouquet of flowers picked especially for me, I realize I’m also holding the memory of the person I used to be—the woman I was when Jon was by my side. I miss her. I miss the version of me that existed before loss became my constant companion. But now, I’m trying to figure out who I am in the wake of all this. Who is the woman left behind after the storm has passed? P.S. The truth is the storm hasn’t actually passed yet.
Grief is teaching me many things—especially about myself. It is showing me that loss is not just about the absence of someone we love but also about the absence of the person we were when they were with us. It’s a strange, unsettling feeling to realize that in losing my spouse, I also lost a part of myself. The woman who was a wife, a partner, and a best friend. The woman who thought she knew what the future would hold.
“They whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before. They are now wherever we are.”
St. John Chrysostom
Yet, I am reminded of something St. John Chrysostom wrote: “They whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before. They are now wherever we are.” As I grieve Jon’s physical absence, I’m slowly realizing that he is still with me, woven into every aspect of my life, wherever I am. In losing him, I’ve also been called to find him again—not in the past, but in the present, in the ways he is still present with me and our children, in the quiet moments of remembrance, in the love that remains.
Now, I’m left rediscovering who I am, using writing, creating, and caring for my children as ways to find the woman still within me. My shop has been a particularly unexpected and beautiful part of this process. When I started creating and designing for the shop, it was just something small—a project to keep my hands busy, to give me purpose in the midst of so much loss. But I’ve realized that this little shop has been a lifeline, a gift from God a source of joy and hope.
Through my shop, I’ve felt a sense of renewal. Each product I create, every package I send, it’s as if I’m stitching together pieces of myself that had felt lost. In making these things, I’m reminded of who I am—a creator, a nurturer, and someone who can bring joy to others, even in my grief. There’s a rhythm to it, one that allows me to express myself in ways that words can’t always reach. And in this process, I feel God’s gentle hand guiding me, providing for me in ways I never expected.
The shop is more than just a business; it’s a ministry. It’s a space where I can share not only products but also a piece of my heart with each person who receives something. It reminds me that, despite losing so much, I still have something to give. And in this giving, I’ve found pieces of myself again.
There have been so many moments where I’ve wondered if I was capable of keeping it going—if I had the strength to balance this, along with everything else, especially given I am the only parent in this family. And yet, God has provided. On the days when I’ve felt overwhelmed, He has shown up in the form of a kind word from a customer, a surge of unexpected creativity, the support and encouragement from a friend or even an influx of orders at just the right time. It’s like He’s saying, “I see you. I know this is hard, but you’re not doing it alone.”
As I continue to figure out who I am without Jon, the shop has become a place of healing. It’s where I can pour out my heart, share my story, and create something beautiful from the broken pieces. I’m learning that grief doesn’t have to be something I get through; it’s something I grow through. In this process of creating and connecting, I’m beginning to understand that the woman I am now—though changed by loss—is still capable of joy and hope.
I don’t have all the answers. But today, I bought myself flowers and I held space for both the woman I was and the woman I am becoming. I’m learning to celebrate the small victories, to grieve the losses, and to allow myself the grace to grow in the aftermath of it all. And through it all, God continues to provide, even when I don’t always understand His ways.
May you buy yourself a beautiful bouquet today.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11
