“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.” - Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
I do not know what I am doing. Grief of this magnitude is completely foreign to me—there is no roadmap, no guidebook, no preparation that could have equipped me for this. I feel inadequate, out of my depth, and utterly lost.
Each morning, I rise—some mornings slower than others—and I lean into a routine that feels both necessary and meaningless. How is healing from a loss of one’s soulmate measured? Is it in the number of times I cry, or how deeply the sobs shake my soul? I’ve searched for answers, but there seems to be no standard path through grief. Only scattered pieces of wisdom, none of which fully fit the shape of my pain.
People tell me to keep busy—to distract my mind so I won’t think of Matthew so much. But we shared a life. We spent as much time together as possible, especially at home, so everything I do reminds me of him. So the idea of “not thinking of him” feels both impossible and wrong. Am I grieving incorrectly?
To fill the hours, I keep a mental list of projects. One of the biggest has been finishing the landscape edging around my house—a task I split into three phases. Today, after several days of work, I completed phase two. I spent four hours digging a 100-foot trench using a hand tool, laying the edging, and spreading pine bark.
Matthew would have done it differently—he would’ve used a real tool, something with a motor if possible, and had it finished in minutes. We would’ve laughed, teased, and completed the whole project together in an hour. That haunted me as I worked. His absence echoed in every task.
I have lost my helpmate… and I am no longer one.
That sentence devastates me. Just a few words strung together, yet they cut so deeply. I believe that companionship was part of God’s divine design, a sacred pairing of hearts and lives. I was blessed with that gift - a true helpmate in Matthew, someone who saw my soul and held it with kindness.
I was Matthew’s helpmate - his partner in purpose, prayer, and peace. I stood beside him in joy and in hardship, offering my strength when he was weary. We built a life with shared laughter, quiet understanding, and deep devotion. To be his helpmate was not just my role, it was my honor.
And now, I am charged with carrying the echo of that divine bond through the rest of my journey alone. Because no matter how busy I keep myself, I cannot escape the fact that he is gone.
I think of all I’ve lost—all we’ve lost—his family, his friends, everyone who loved him. What remains is a vast, aching emptiness that nothing seems able to fill.
To lose a helpmate is to lose half the rhythm of your soul. The silence left behind echoes with all the things we once did together, all the love I still carry. Ours was a bond born of heaven’s design—sacred, steady, and sure.
And now, in the stillness, I cling to the truth that it was God who joined us.
“And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.” — Genesis 2:18
