I threw open the front door.

The silence engulfed my body like a threatening wave dragging me under the current.

I knew.

I don’t know how I knew—but I did. It changed the meaning of “gut feeling” for me forever.

I ran up the stairs screaming his name.


I got to his room. I saw his body out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t bring myself to look.

This wasn’t happening. I’m dreaming. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.


I realized I was shouting at myself and at him at the same time. I stood there, in shock. Hundreds of thoughts ran through my mind. I still wasn’t processing the truth.

We had just talked about losing our honeymoon weight that morning. Getting gas. Going grocery shopping. This can’t be happening.

Everything went black.

After calling 911, I have almost no recollection of what happened that day. A day that will forever define my life before and after loss.

November 13, 2017.

There was no warning. No time to prepare. Nothing.

Wayne was a healthy 27-year old man. We had just gotten married six weeks prior, and returned from our honeymoon two weeks before our lives simultaneously ended.

That’s right—both of our lives ended that day.

And while I still exist in my body, my entire being has been destroyed.

The pain is astronomical.

Since that day, I have been struggling to stay afloat.

Every day is an extreme battle. A whirlwind of emotion. Guilt. Confusion. Sorrow. Numb. Hollow.

Everything I have ever believed in has been challenged. Nothing makes sense anymore.

My journey through grief has been an eye opening experience—spiritually, emotionally and physically. The only thing that keeps me breathing is Wayne.

Yes—he is no longer with me in this physical world. But I feel him everywhere. He is the sun. The wind. The rain. The music. The animals.

He continues to guide me in an unbelievable way. When I am about to give in, he lifts me up. When I think I can’t do this life any longer, he reminds me of why I’m still here. When I tell him I feel lost, he sends me signs to keep going.

To live for him. For us. To honor our life plan—traveling the world together. To live life to the fullest. To not sweat the small stuff. To enjoy life because you only get one.

It’s easier said than done. I have to constantly remind myself that grief is love.

The more you love, the more you grieve. The stronger the bond, the stronger the pain. The closer you were, the further they feel.

That love gets dispersed. Throughout your entire body. Your skin. Your bones. Your heart. Your lungs. Your throat. Your stomach. Every part of your physical body aches with the bottled up love that has nowhere to go.

Finding an outlet for that love is key.

In writing. Painting. Taking care of yourself. Opening up your mind. Doing things you never thought you would do. Pulling the trigger on life. Experiencing.

You’re doing it. You’re surviving. You’re alive.

Keep going.


Cyndi was 28 when the sudden loss of her husband from bacterial myocarditis changed her life forever. As a professional writer for a natural health company, she knew writing was the best outlet for her extreme grief. She started her blog, Remembering Wayne, on the couple’s 10-year dating anniversary in hopes to give her loved ones an inside look at their relationship, an idea of her grief journey, and to give other grieving widows something to relate to.

She plans on eventually turning her blog into a book in the future, and is determined to travel the world to honor her husband and find her true purpose in life. The only thing that matters to her is keeping Wayne’s spirit alive—and she’ll do anything in her power to achieve that goal.

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  • Jennifer says:

    I lost my husband two days after you did. Every word you wrote is the truth. It never goes away.

  • Tom says:

    On 3/1/17 Susan and I left for a wonderful vacation camping in the Virgin Islands. On 3/31/17 I found her lifeless in the bathroom after we had been reading together in bed about 15 minutes earlier. She had developed a chronic cough that a Dr said might be pneumonia but there was never a hint of a life threatening condition. We were as close as a couple could possibly be and we couldn’t even say goodbye. This kind of loss is also trauma. I share everything you wrote. The only clear purpose in my life now is doing what I can so Susan will be remembered.

    • Cyndi says:


      I’m so sorry. Reading your comment makes my heart ache for you. It’s the most traumatic thing– to be talking to your soulmate one minute, and the next minute they’re gone and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. No goodbyes– nothing to let them know they will always be remembered and that you love them with every ounce of energy you have <3

  • Vicki says:

    I lost my boyfriend of eight years ….he died by suicide, April 25, 2017. He was going through depression and sadness due to mental stress and loss …no job etc. Stresses in his life had been for years. My dear, Best Friend… he could not hold on any longer. The pain and heartbreak ….well i know you understand. What you have written, I feel every word. My life…. as you have said … The more you Love, the more you grieve.

    • Cyndi says:

      I am so, so sorry for the loss of your boyfriend and all the secondary losses that come from the main loss. Yes, there are people out there that can and do understand your pain. While it helps to know you aren’t alone, nothing seems to make a dent in the everlasting grief. Hugs to you.

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