The holidays have brought with them a rash of inquiries from friends and distant family about how we are doing. All of them come from a place of love and concern, but sadly, most of them just serve as another stark reminder of what we’ve lost, and the realization that at the end of the day, most people are just grateful that they’re not in our shoes.

One friend recently warned me that “Christmas would be the worst.” That elicited a bitter laugh from me because what since Jan. 8 hasn’t been “the worst?”

The worst was having to leave my husband’s body, which I wasn’t even allowed to see, to drive 20 minutes knowing that within moments I would shatter my children’s lives.

The worst was having to make decisions that had only been casually talked about in hypothetical conversations.

The worst was having to pick up the phone again and again, knowing that every conversation was going to bring unspeakable and unfathomable sorrow to the person on the other end of the phone.

The worst was realizing that once and for all, I was the only adult in the room. My parents weren’t going to sweep in and save the day and fix everything, my husband wasn’t going to have my back (although, in every way possible, he did his best to prepare for something like this), my children were too young to shoulder any real responsibility, and I was on my own.

The worst was sitting and watching Duncan wait by the door for days, ear perking up at every vehicle that pulled into the driveway, day after day, hoping that he would finally come home.

The worst was standing in front of a room full of our closest friends and family, company where Steve would have normally been the life of the party, making everyone laugh, and trying my best not to sob as I tried to pay tribute to the husband, father, and friend that Steve was.

The worst was A’s birthday, when we tried to do things like we always had, and a few notes into Happy Birthday, we all fell apart and the ice cream cake sat and melted on the counter.

The worst was going to the concerts and the plays that Steve had heard the rehearsals for and never got to see the finished product. The worst was opening day of Spring Gobbler, one of Steve’s favorite days of the year.

The worst was the thousands of times I picked up my phone to text him about something the kids said or did, or some bizarre roadkill I’d seen, or because I’d had a bad day and just needed to vent to him.

The worst was pulling in the driveway after one particularly long day, and seeing his car parked in its usual spot, and breathing a sigh of relief, because for a moment, I thought he was home.

The worst has been watching my children, seeing their pain, and not being able to take any of it away.

The worst has been his things, gradually disappearing from daily use, getting packed away for safe keeping, or hidden because I can’t bear to face the fact that he’s never going to sit by the wood stove and unlace his boots again after a long day of hunting.

The worst is remembering our secret jokes, that were funny only to us, and whose explanation would bore anyone else to tears, but made us laugh until we cried.

The worst is remembering all the other life changing moments, from having our children, to changing jobs, to moving, to taking on new projects of all sorts, when we each said to the other, “I’ve got your back, let’s go for it.”

Is Christmas really any worse than a rainy cold Fall Saturday morning when he would have gotten up and decided the weather was too bad, and he’d sleep in instead? Is it any worse than sitting through July Fourth fireworks alone? Is it any worse than knowing all of the things that Steve had hoped to accomplish this year? The vacation we were going to take? The projects we were going to work on together?

I’m frequently told that I should focus on the great life that Steve had, but it is difficult knowing the incredible life that Steve had still planned to live. Another one of the worst things is knowing how hard he worked, with the intention of retiring at a younger age, so he could have the time to pursue all of his true passions. The worst is yet to come in many ways, with graduations, weddings, grandchildren, all those things Steve couldn’t wait to enjoy.

Quite simply, all of it is just the worst, because Steve was truly one of the best.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News.