My hole-hearted life: The beginning

“This is grief’s most piercing message: there is no way around — the only way is through.” — Joanne Cacciatore, PhD, "Bearing the Unbearable"

Welcome readers to My Hole-Hearted Life, a creative space where I’ll be sharing personal essays about my grief journey that began on Oct. 6, 2020, when I received a Facetime call from a dear friend telling me Mike, my husband of 35 years, had died in a plane crash. He had gone up for a ride in an ultralight, and for reasons still unknown to us and the Federal Aviation Administration, the plane crashed in a field in rural Indiana, and Mike and the pilot did not survive the impact.

My world was turned upside down on that day, and I’m still learning to navigate life without my person. For 35 years, Mike was my rock, my sounding board, my anchor. He was the father of my children and a partner in life and business, and without him, I often feel lost and untethered. I’m like a toddler whose special “Happy Birthday” balloon is stripped from their hand by whipping winds. I stand frozen, with tears on my cheeks, looking upward as the brightly colored sphere spirals up into the sky, eventually disappearing from my sight.

That aching sadness that comes from losing something or someone you love still hits me hard when I least expect it, and I’m learning that it’s OK to still feel this way. There’s no time limit on loss, and grief is not something to be conquered — or ignored. As Joanne Cacciatore writes in her book, “Bearing the Unbearable”, “This is grief’s most piercing message: there is no way around — the only way is through.”

I find myself moving through my loss with no timeline in sight. Sometimes I struggle to get out from under my bed’s cocoon of covers and put my feet on the floor to start the day, and there are other moments when joy surfaces again. Those sparks of hopeful light, or grief glimmers as I like to call them, arrive more frequently now — when I see my grandchildren playing in the park or witness the miracles of nature while walking my dog Pilot.

“The less you talk about it, the sooner you’ll be able to get on with your life,” people will tell you. But don’t listen, and resist sharing those thoughts with someone who is grieving. People are well intentioned, and death and grief are uncomfortable and tears are messy. But please understand this: you don’t move on or get over losing someone you love. Instead, you learn to live with a permanent hole in your heart — hence the name of my Substack. And in the four years since Mike died, I’ve discovered the hole makes room for more love, more empathy and more living if you let it.

I don’t know what this Substack will become, but I dare to hope you’ll join me on my journey by reading what I write and sharing it with others who you think need to read my words. As a career journalist, the written word is at the heart of everything I create, and it’s how I process complex feelings and make sense of life. I’m also a storyteller, a fact finder and a seeker who is curious by nature, so if you read my essays and feel compelled to share a story of your own, please reach out (lschlichtman@gmail.com). It would be an honor and privilege to hear about your experience with loss and grief and then share it with my readers, pending your permission of course. I promise my essays will be real and sometimes raw, and I hope that kind of authenticity will earn your trust and create a safe space for sharing.

It’s my intention that you become more than a casual reader of my words. I hope to also build community and connection around death and loss — a topic that’s hard for many to talk about in our grief-illiterate world. I experience this phenomenon every time I try to tell friends, family and former journalism colleagues about my plans for this Substack. I find myself apologizing and couching my intentions with phrases like “I know it sounds sad” and “I know it seems depressing” but … And it’s because of those entrenched feelings and fears that I’m compelled to push forward and keep writing with the goal of normalizing conversations around grief.

So here goes … and thank you for joining me on my journey of healing and hope.