Around this time last year, my husband, Gary S. Malkin, passed away on January 19, 2025. Over the past month, I’ve been having flashbacks to his final months—first in the hospital, then in hospice care. On top of that, complications with my in-laws added to the emotional strain. When I think back to December 2024 through January 2025, it’s all a blur of grief, phone calls with lawyers, and tense arguments with the staff at his long-term care facility.
This past year I have continued to cycle through grief, gratitude and relief. I miss the healthy, loving, adorable, brilliant, talented man I met 22 years ago. I am grateful for the good years we shared. I am relieved that he is no longer suffering in severe daily pain. Now I am in the process of sorting through his things.
The first batch of decluttering work was in his closet. It took me several months to give away his clothes. Some of his shirts reminded me of exotic dinners in far away places, or special events we attended. Gary loved Winnie the Pooh. He had several whimsical Pooh and Tigger shirts. I loved these shirts on him. These were loaded with memories. For each shirt, I needed to pause, process the memories, feel the feelings and move on. Sometimes I cried, sometimes I laughed. This was complicated, harsh and exhausting at times. I finally gave away those shirts too, for they were too triggering of sad emotions.
After Gary’s clothes, I started working on the basement. While I was down there recently, I came across a stack of Gary’s framed diplomas and patents. It took my breath away. He was an accomplished computer scientist, software engineer, senior architect of elegant and amazing code. I held each of his diplomas in my hand, thinking about the years he spent studying and learning his craft.
Then I took a close look at his patents. I knew that he had patents, but I had never seen these plaques.
What am I going to do with these diplomas and patents? I’m not going to save them. They are not relevant anymore. So I’m digitally documenting them here. This is what we do now to reduce the clutter. Take a picture. Release and let go. Move on.
Some of my loved ones keep asking, “When are you going to sell the house? Have you called a realtor yet?” I tell them, “I’m doing the best I can. I’m not ready to call a realtor.” I know they mean well and want me to be happy, but I can feel their concern and a hint of judgment, as if I should be moving faster. I’m processing my grief at my own pace—I just can’t speed it up. When I start thinking I “should” be better, “should” be decluttering faster, or “should” be having more fun, I end up feeling worse. It’s a slippery slope in the Land of Should.
According to grief expert Megan Devine, I’m exactly where I need to be. In her beautiful book, It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand, she shares her personal journey of grieving the loss of her 42-year-old husband, who drowned in a river accident, blending her story with clinical insights and research. It’s incredibly helpful, full of tips, techniques, and methods for easing the pain of loss. Today, it stands as my favorite book on grief, especially for the way she teaches the art of setting boundaries with well-meaning people who ask re-traumatizing questions.
Thanks to Devine, when someone asks me “When are you moving?” I just smile and say “Eventually I will move. No worries.” If they persist, or tell me I should do XYZ, I have a few tools to set a boundary and detour the conversation to another topic, without guilt or shame. Yes, there is no shame in my game anymore. Please don’t tell me how I should feel, how to hurry things along, or what’s wrong with my grieving process. Nay, nay —“I’m okay with not being okay.” Embracing radical acceptance has helped me stay more at peace—though sometimes still frustrated—as I move through this house, parting with all of Gary’s belongings.
Even though my marriage was complicated, there was a lot of love there. As Queen Elizabeth II said after she lost her beloved Philip, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” There is no escape. Every day I feel the love, the grief, and the bewilderment of “What happened to Gary?” I keep letting it go, giving it to Spirit, trusting the truth will eventually be revealed to me.
Today, I’m learning to accept the impermanence of life instead of resenting it. In the past three years, I’ve lost my beloved younger sister, my husband, two cats, and a very special 55-year-old yoga teacher. Every day, when I return to my home, I say “Hi Gary, Hi Q-Tip, Hi Yum Yum, I miss you all💙” When I say this, I smile, seeing sweet memories of my kitties running up to greet me at the door, seeing my husband sitting in the living room or making dinner in the kitchen. Now it’s an empty house, but I still feel the love from these ghosts in my memory. As it is written “Love never fails.”
References
Devine, M. (2017). It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand.
St. Martin’s Essentials.
The Lighter Side of Transformation 