Still Loved, Still Here: A Widow's Grief

01/21/2026

Hi. I didn’t ghost y’all. I just got temporarily recruited by the Trauma Olympics. 🥴🏆
Hey sweet people 🖤
I’m sorry I’ve been away for a bit. Not because I forgot you — because grief and trauma have been doing parkour through my life like they pay rent here.
I decided to enter Intensive Outpatient Treatment (IOP) so I could keep working and keep my job… and that’s been necessary, but also expensive in the “less hours + less income” kind of way.
And then my house payment decided to jump up by over $200 out of nowhere, which has been… a whole separate emotional journey.
Also—just to set expectations—I don’t “scream into a throw pillow.”
If I wanted to scream, I live alone now in a four-bedroom, two-bath house with five animals depending on me every day.
Mostly what happens is I cry so hard sometimes the snot literally hangs there… just dangling halfway to the floor. Grief is nothing if not creative. 🥴
But I’m still here. And I’m coming back as soon as possible—because I want this space to be real, safe, and actually helpful. Especially for anyone trying to survive loss while bills keep acting feral… and yes, my time-tested badasses with extra life mileage—you’re on my mind too. 🖤
If you’ve been struggling or quiet too, I get it.
Comment “YES” if you want me posting again—little by little—without pretending any of this is cute.

11/30/2025

good things don’t last,
and life made sure
to teach me that in close-up,
no-mercy detail.

one moment the room is ordinary –
a voice in the hallway,
a dumb joke tossed over a shoulder,
that soft, stupid feeling of
I’m safe here.

the next moment,
the world tears straight through the middle,
and everything I love
is on the wrong side of it.
cars still pass,
emails still send,
the universe doesn’t even look up.

grief doesn’t knock.
it arrives like a smashed-in door,
reeking of smoke and bad news,
drops its bags on my chest
and says
here, carry this.

it carves lessons into bone,
sets old memories on fire,
then asks what I’ve learned.
some nights
I can still hear the sound
of before
shattering into after –
an echo trapped
under my ribs.

morning, rude and relentless,
still drags its light
across my face.
and somehow
I stand up with it –
eyes swollen, hands shaking,
a little feral around the edges,
but vertical.

people think survival is soft.
it isn’t.
it’s teeth.
it’s grit in the mouth.
it’s breathing on days
that should have finished me.

what I lost is gone,
but it’s also the reason
I keep clawing my way
through hours that feel
unlivable.

this dawn isn’t pretty.
it’s jagged.
it hums like a bruise.
but it’s mine.

and I am, impossibly,
still here.

L. L.

11/16/2025

Widow’s Journal: What They Did to Carl, What It Did to Me

I wrote this for my husband, Carl Lewis. They took his life during a mental health crisis in our own home, and it shattered mine. The least I can do is tell the truth.

THE DAY THEY FAILED YOU 💔
by Leslie Lewis

The day they failed you, the sky went numb,
a thunderclap struck, but no answers would come.
The world went crooked, the truth gone askew,
a home turned crime scene they blamed on you.

I walk through the rooms where your laughter would live,
where you fought for your life with nothing to give.
Your voice still trembles in the walls and the air,
a ghost of a man who deserved so much care.

They yelled their commands; they couldn’t comprehend fear,
didn't see your mind fracturing, your panic so near.
Twenty-six seconds and our whole life was done,
by a coward in a badge with a trembling gun.

Your absence is loud, a relentless refrain,
a lack of justice drumbeats my brain.
I carry the rage, a spark turned full inferno flame,
and speak all the truths they’re too afraid to name.

I replay the moments I wish I could change,
the signals I missed, the pain out of range.
You hid your hurt deep in that brave, stubborn way —
I wish I had known what your silence would say.

But grief made me steel, and truth made me brave,
and our love burned a fire they’ll never enslave.
I’m your widow, your witness, your storm breaking through,
dragging each lie into daylight for you.

I knock on their doors with my fury and proof,
demanding their answers, demanding the truth.
They count on my shaking — they don’t know my spine.
They don’t know the woman grief forged over time.

Your voice is the echo that steadies my fight,
you’re in my heart when panic ignites.
I feel you saying, Get ’em, babe, pushing me through,
that strength a gift Love gave me from you.

The day they failed you, they fractured my soul,
but they didn’t expect I’d fight to get whole.
They didn’t expect I would rise from the scar
and carry your justice like the bright Northern Star.

You’re still my forever, my life’s truest part,
a love stitched in memory, always held in my heart.

11/11/2025

🖤🎁 WIDOW MOMS: HOLIDAY HELP ALERT 🎁🖤
If December is a calculator and a panic attack, read this.
Santa’s budget is wheezing? Same. There is help.

✨ The Hope for Widows Foundation has opened their Bring Hope Holiday Assistance Program — support for widowed moms who need help with kids’ gifts or essentials (US-based)

💸 If Santa’s budget IS wheezing, apply at the link posted below. If you’re okay, save/share and be someone’s secret elf.

11/11/2025

🖤⚠️ QUICK UPDATE + ADVICE NEEDED ⚠️🖤
📄 Missouri Vital Records says there’s NO record of Carl’s death certificate in Jeff City. Playle-Rimer-Millard Family Funeral Chapel (Kirksville) told me it was submitted and they’d bring certified copies. That was false. Again. 😡
🧠 I started Intensive Outpatient (IOP). Caring for my brain while my heart screams.
🧳💔 My best friend Elena left for Nebraska with a crazy-ass woman I don’t even know. I’m gutted.
🕯️ My grandmother died. I’m not handling it well.
🏡 I chose a boarder for my basement—Patty. Feels like the universe refusing to let me be alone.
📦 My uncle moves out after the first of the year. More change incoming.

🔎 If you’ve forced a funeral home in Missouri to actually file a death certificate or lit a fire under Vital Records, drop EXACT scripts, offices, and names that worked.
🧰 If you’ve done IOP while actively grieving, what kept you afloat?

This widow is angry, exhausted, and running on caffeine + spite. Dark humor and kind words welcome. If you’re drowning today, you’re not alone—breathe, sip water, text someone safe. We can do one more day. ☕🖤

— Leslie

10/23/2025

10/23/2025

I got over 50 reactions on my posts last week! Thanks everyone for your support! 🎉

10/22/2025

🖤 STOP SCROLLING, WIDOW FRIEND. NOBODY TELLS YOU THIS PART.

Did you know Social Security gives a one-time $255 funeral death benefit for surviving spouses?
Yeah… that’s it. $255.
But most of us don’t even know it exists, or how to apply, because grief brain and bureaucracy are a cruel combo.

You’ll need your spouse’s death certificate and their Social Security number.
Then call 1-800-772-1213 (Social Security Administration) and ask about the Lump-Sum Death Benefit.

It’s not much—but if it helps cover a single bill or meal while you’re drowning in “after” paperwork, it matters.
Because we all know $255 won’t fix anything. But it’s one more tiny bit of help we’re owed.

🖤
If you’re navigating widow paperwork and wish there was one place that got it, I made printable grief tools to help keep your head above water → https://stilllovedstillhere.etsy.com

10/22/2025

💔 STOP SCROLLING, WIDOW FRIEND. THIS ONE HURTS.

It’s Wednesday, October 22nd, and I still don’t have my husband’s death certificate.
He was shot and killed on January 8th.
No answers. No justice. No closure. Just silence and paperwork that never comes.

I keep trying to function like a normal person, but every time I remember how long it’s been—and how wrong it still feels—I just want to scream.
It’s not fair. None of this is fair.
I don’t want lessons or strength or “time heals” speeches. I just want my husband back.

Some days grief isn’t poetic.
It’s just paperwork and heartbreak on repeat.

🖤
If you’ve ever felt this kind of waiting—the kind that breaks your heart all over again—my widow printables might bring you a little comfort → https://stilllovedstillhere.etsy.com

10/17/2025

🩶 STOP SCROLLING, WIDOW FRIENDS — THIS MIGHT SAVE YOUR JOB. 🩶

(alt hook)

🌿 “You don’t have to power through grief. You just need time.” 🌿

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💭 My executive dysfunction has been winning lately. (Widow brain + grief fatigue = Olympic-level exhaustion.)

But my therapist suggested something that might actually help.
I’m now working a few hours a week at the local Salvation Army office—just to get out of the house, have structure, and ease back into the world.

And here’s the important part:
I extended my intermittent FMLA leave—and I want every widow to know you can do this too.

Most of us take FMLA right after the loss. But the problem is… grief doesn’t expire in 12 weeks. Especially not after something traumatic.
That’s where intermittent FMLA comes in.

🕊️ It lets you take smaller chunks of time off—like a few hours or a day—when you really can’t function.
🕊️ Your doctor can approve up to a certain number of days per month (mine allows 8).
🕊️ It protects your job while you take the space you need to actually survive.

You deserve that time.
You’re not lazy, broken, or dramatic—you’re grieving.

So please, talk to your HR department about intermittent FMLA. It could make all the difference. 💚

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Soft CTA:
🩷 If this helps, I share more widow resources and grief printables here → https://www.facebook.com/StillLovedStillHere