I never saw it coming; this life I now live. 

I had things so planned out. They’d been in place for more than three decades and my husband and I were finally going to enjoy the things we’d worked so hard to attain.

And then he died. Just like that.

So here I am.

It would be tempting to talk about how all this sucks. Because much of it does.

But this last year has opened doors and afforded me possibilities that never would have occurred if he were still here. It’s changed me in ways I never would have seem coming. And as much as I wish he were here, this is what I’ve got; and I think it’s best to look at what you have, versus what you’ve lost. (Unless, of course, it’s weight.)

In this vein, I’ve contemplated the newness the last year has brought me. It’s been a time of growth, adventure, deep breaths and courage. And through it all, I’ve grown stronger. I’ve had experiences I never would have, if my old life hadn’t become my new life. It’s becoming my new life.

My path was paved in concrete, and then it ended.

But with that ending came multiple (no infinite) new paths that were mine to explore. They were mine for the choosing.

I’m still choosing.

In the midst of the overwhelmingness of grief, how awesome is that?

Overall, I worry less while worrying more. Life’s a conundrum. My worries may still be there, but I realize they are fleeting. I see life in perspective. What I worry about today will most likely be gone tomorrow, so why worry at all? The change in perspective is liberating.

I’ve met new friends, many of them grieving in their own ways. Some are widows or widowers - all of whom never ever thought they’d tote that title. It hurts my heart that they understand my pain like no one else, but this very fact forms a nearly immediate bond that makes a new friend feel like an old friend instantaneously.

That bond surpasses time; it pushes a friendship into the fast lane. It fosters bionic trust because the experiences you’ve shared bring an understanding that only people who have breathed it can comprehend.

I’ve reconnected with old friends, many of them from high school. They knew both my husband and me and seem to understand my loss more than many others.

I used to be timid about so many things. My husband was my shield - he’d find the restaurant bathroom and give me directions so I wouldn’t get lost. He did most of the driving. I’d drive an alternate route just to avoid a round-about.

He knew about cars and plumbing and life insurance. He loved Chinese food. I had a slight aversion to it since an unfortunate restaurant incident while we were dating. I never could do Christmas properly. It was too much pomp and circumstance for me. We both hated the cold and dreamed of moving somewhere warmer - someday. We both loved family and made it our number one priority. He loved Disney. Me too. Although he gravitated to the fastest, roughest thrill rides, while I felt the pull of Pooh.

So much has changed. He’d be surprised and proud to know that I unapologetically use public restrooms, even without buying anything at the store. I can drive just about anywhere, as long as I have Siri with me. I can even navigate round-abouts, plumbing problems, car repairs and insurance issues without major anxiety. 

I’ve found a renewed fondness for Chinese food, especially take-out. That probably has him pivoting mid-flight. Maybe he helped me overcome my aversion. All I know is you can Kung Pao me anytime.

I still can’t properly do Christmas. He understands. I still hate the cold and love my family. I still love Disney and I hope to take our grandkids there this spring. He’ll be with us for sure — on the coasters as well as within the Hundred Acre Wood.

I never could have anticipated this life a year ago. I never would have anticipated the changes it’s brought about within me. And, as much as I’d like to go back, if I could, going forward is what I’ve got. I hope it’s getting just a little bit better each day.

My life is new and unexpected, but new and unexpected can be exciting and good, especially if you are determined to make it so. I’m trying.

— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears regularly in the Times. She can be reached at slicescolumn@gmail.com.