I have days when I’m deeply depressed, and other days when life simply goes on. I haven’t had any truly happy days yet. I’m trying to be patient with myself. I tell myself that once I find a job, having something steady to focus on might help—maybe it will give my grief somewhere else to rest, even briefly.

I do my best not to miss Jason every moment of every day, but it’s nearly impossible. Everything reminds me of him. If I try a new food and enjoy it, I want to share it with him. If I watch a movie I like, I want Jason to see it with me. When the kids do something funny, my first instinct is to turn and laugh with him. It’s the small, ordinary moments that hurt the most.

Sleeping without him beside me is still just as hard now as it was three months ago. I had planned to share my entire life with him, and for him to share his life with me. I still can’t accept that we don’t get to do that now. It feels deeply unfair.

It hurts.

This is a true account written in my own words during the time it happened. I’ve lightly edited it for clarity in the present day (2026), with minimal exclusions, while keeping the original voice and meaning intact.