The Sun is Out, But There’s a Cloud Just for Me

The last few days, I haven’t felt like myself. Something has been off. It’s a strange and unsettling feeling, like the sun is undeniably out, yet there’s a small, persistent cloud following only me.
I can clearly see the light: the bright reasons to be happy, the simple joys of the moment, and the exciting things I have to look forward to. I have a nice, long bike ride planned tomorrow, a chance to take my new bike out on the open road. My family is coming to visit for my birthday, which is just around the corner. By all accounts, these are moments worth celebrating. And yet, I can’t quite get there. I’m unable to feel genuinely excited about any of it or fully enjoy the present moment. It all feels muted, slightly distant.

I’ve never been one to make a fuss over my birthday anyway. I don’t like people making a big deal over me or being the center of attention—it just makes me uncomfortable. But this feeling is different; it’s deeper than just pre-birthday nerves. As I was walking out to check the mail today, the realization finally hit me. It was like a piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place, not with a jolt, but with a quiet, undeniable certainty. I’m probably stressing about my first birthday without Alex.

I knew this day was coming. I’ve known it for a long time, and I know there will still be many “firsts” without him—first holidays, first anniversaries, first milestones. But knowing it intellectually is entirely different from feeling the heavy, suffocating weight of its approach.

I guess I’ve been unconsciously preparing myself for the impact, bracing for the emotional hit that is inevitable, without even realizing what I was doing. That’s what the cloud has been—a shield, a fog, a defense mechanism against a pain I know is imminent.

These next several months are about to be incredibly difficult. The moments that should bring joy are now reminders of a missing piece. It’s hard to see the light when you’re anticipating the storm.
But maybe, by acknowledging the cloud and understanding what it is, I can start to let the light through, even if it’s just a little bit. For now, I’ll just breathe, try to appreciate the sun that is out, and accept that it’s okay for this beautiful, complicated grief to be right alongside me for the ride.