Written by Nick Bliven
In the movie “50 First Dates,” Adam Sandler’s character falls in love with Drew Barrymore’s character over and over again. Every morning, she wakes up with no memory of the previous day, so he has to win her again—remind her who he is, who they are. It’s a rom-com premise that should be exhausting. But it isn’t because every time he tells her their story, he means it more.
There’s a Killers song that haunts me, “Reasons Unknown,” about doing all you could and still not finding the words to say.
That’s the thing about grief and the work of healing.
When my dad died suddenly after a routine heart surgery, something shifted in me. Instead of forgetting, I worked toward remembering and insisting on being remembered. For years, I had carried silence and shame. There were stories I couldn’t share.
So I started writing. Every time someone new encounters my story, whether a stranger, a coworker, a friend I hadn’t told yet, I’m living a version of that film. I’m starting from scratch, but I’m not weakening the story by repeating it. I’m deepening it. Every retelling loosens shame’s grip a little more.
I think about this in Northern Kentucky specifically, where so many of us, especially men, were told to keep hard things to ourselves. We’ll talk about the Bengals, the weather, and the new restaurant in Covington. We won’t talk about the empty chair at the table, and the silence costs us. It isolates the grieving, and it teaches the next generation that pain is something to hide.
Near the end of “50 First Dates,” Sandler’s character breaks the cycle by loving her so thoroughly that something finally sticks. She believes him.
I don’t know what you’re carrying. Maybe you’ve lost someone, or maybe it’s shame. Maybe you were taught not to feel, not to speak, not to be vulnerable. But I’ve learned there is power in repetition. Every time a hard story gets told out loud, maybe at the kitchen table or a bar, someone heals a little. It could be the speaker or the listener.
Maybe even both.
So let’s talk about hard things, Northern Kentucky. Tell your story again. And again. Someone needs to hear it, even if it’s the first time you’ve met.
