When the Riding Gear Made Me Cry: A Widow’s Slow, Brave Way Forward
Today was one of those days that looks ordinary on the outside, but feels like a storm on the inside.
It was a very hard and emotional day—and it surprised me how quickly grief can rise up, even years later, as if it’s been waiting quietly for a single familiar object to call it back into the room.
The Day the Helmet Brought Him Back
I saw my late husband’s helmet, his gloves, and his riding gear—and suddenly I wasn’t standing in the present anymore. I was back in moments I didn’t even realize I still carried so vividly: the sound of his routine, the familiar way he moved, the sense of safety I felt just knowing he was near.
Grief can be like that. It doesn’t always announce itself with a big warning. Sometimes it arrives through the simplest things—something hanging in a cupboard, something packed away for “later,” something you thought you were strong enough to look at now.
| What I’m learning: A memory-trigger doesn’t mean you’re going backwards. Sometimes it means you loved deeply—and your heart still recognizes what mattered. |
My Children’s Little Waistcoats—and the Tears I Didn’t Expect
Then I found my children’s small waistcoats, their colours that they wore from when they were little. I don’t know what I expected to feel, but I wasn’t prepared for how fast the tears came.
Those tiny pieces of clothing carried a whole chapter of our family life—when their bodies were smaller, their voices were younger, and the world still felt more complete. In that moment, I missed my husband in a way that felt raw and immediate.
I realized again how much I miss him—not only the big things, but the everyday things: having someone to share the weight of decisions, the comfort of a familiar presence, the quiet teamwork of building a home together.
Carrying It All: Parenting Alone After Loss
Raising children alone means carrying the financial, educational, and emotional responsibilities by myself. Some days I feel strong and capable. Other days I feel tired down to my bones—because it’s not just the tasks, it’s the loneliness that can come with them.
My husband passed away on 11 July 2016. The first year of grief was the hardest. It was the year of “firsts”—the first birthday, the first holidays, the first school moments without him. It felt like learning to breathe again, except the air was different and everything in life had changed shape.
If you’re in that first year now, I want to say this gently: you are not weak for struggling. You are not failing because you’re exhausted. You’re grieving while still showing up—and that is a kind of courage many people will never fully understand.
| What you carry | What it can feel like | A small, kind reminder |
| Financial responsibility | Pressure, fear, constant calculating | You can take it one decision at a time. |
| Education and routines | Non-stop planning and managing | Progress is still progress—even if it’s slow. |
| Emotional support for your children | Feeling like you must be “strong” all the time | Your honesty, tears and tenderness are strength, too. |
Grief Changes With Time (And You Can Still Keep Love)
Life does not wait. Bills still come. Children still grow. Time keeps moving—even when your heart begs it to slow down. And because life doesn’t pause, grieving people must slowly move forward, and remember, that moving forward does not mean that you are forgetting your loved one.
That “moving forward” doesn’t mean you stop loving. It doesn’t mean you erase them. It means you learn to carry the love differently. It means you begin to build a life around the loss, instead of living only inside it.
I can say this honestly: grief gets easier with time. Not because what happened matters less, but because your heart learns new ways to survive. Some days will still hit hard—like today did for me—but the heavy days become more spaced out, and you discover you can make room for both sadness and peace.
| To every widow reading this: You can make it. Even if you’re barely holding on today, even if you’re crying in the kitchen or sitting in the dark after everyone’s asleep—you can make it. |
If you need someone to talk to, or you would like me to just listen, you’re welcome to write to me at marynauys@counsellor.com or info@howtolivelife.co.za.
- Be gentle with yourself this week.
- Let one trusted person know how you’re really doing.
- Choose one small next step—then rest.
Wherever you are in your journey, please remember: you are not alone, and you are not forgotten.
Good night, dear friend. May your heart feel held, and may tomorrow bring a little more strength than today.
