Even though Emily has been gone for two and a half years, I experienced a brand new thing today: she wasn’t the first person I wanted to talk to about a situation. As soon as I realized that someone else crossed my mind to call, I felt the blood leave my face. My heart shattered, and I immediately wanted to bury my face as I sank into a black hole of shame and regret.

The thoughts swirled in my head: I always want to talk to Emily first… what made me choose someone else this time? Am I forgetting about her? Will she think I don’t still love her?

The Shock of Realizing I Didn’t Call Emily First

Grief is full of unexpected moments that shake you to your core when you least expect them. I had spent so long holding onto Emily as my person—the first one I wanted to tell everything to, the voice I needed for reassurance, the soul that made me feel whole. But today, without even thinking, someone else came to mind first.

That moment sent me spiraling. Was I moving on? Was I betraying Emily’s memory by allowing someone else to take up that space? The guilt was overwhelming as if I had suddenly rewritten history and erased her importance in my life.

Although my brain convinced me this was true, I knew it wasn’t. Emily is part of me in ways no one else could ever be.

Why This Moment Felt So Significant

Losing someone you love doesn’t just leave a hole in your heart—it reshapes your entire world. In the aftermath, you hold onto habits, rituals, and ways of thinking that keep them present, as if you can defy reality and keep life the way it was before loss shattered it.

For two and a half years, my instinct was always the same: call Emily. When I received a job offer about a month after she passed, I took champagne to her grave and shared the good news. When the kids do something amazing, I post it on her Facebook page. I talk to a picture of her on my nightstand nearly every evening before I turn off the lamp and every morning when I wake up and turn off my alarm. She’s my person, and she has been for years.

The realization that my instinct had shifted, even for a split second this evening, felt like a betrayal. It forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth—grief doesn’t freeze time. Even when you don’t want it to, life keeps moving forward.

Understanding That Love Doesn’t Fade—It Transforms

The fear of forgetting is one of the cruelest tricks grief plays on us. But forgetting and evolving are not the same. Love isn’t measured by who you call first or how often you talk about someone—it’s measured by the way they remain woven into your life, no matter what changes.

Emily isn’t gone from my heart just because my support system is shifting. She is still present in my thoughts, choices, and how I move through the world.

The way I carry her love has changed, but the love itself? That will never waver.

Embracing the Present Without Letting Go of the Past

Today was a reminder that making space for the present doesn’t mean letting go of the past. Healing isn’t about replacing someone—it’s about learning how to live in a way that honors both the love you’ve lost and the life you still have ahead of you.

Emily would want me to keep living, to keep growing, and to allow myself to find comfort in new places. That doesn’t mean she’s any less important; it just means I am learning to carry her with me in new ways.

Grief doesn’t mean staying frozen in time. It means learning to live with love in a way that allows for memory and momentum. And today, even amid my guilt, I remind myself that moving forward is okay. I will always hold Emily close, no matter how much time has passed or who I share personal news with.