Posted in grief, healing, rediscovery, widow

My 2026 Manifesto:

Posted on by Widow with wings

The Beginning of a New Chapter

This post is the start of something new for me.

Not a polished “after” story. Not a how-to on healing. But a real-time series about rebuilding a life after loss…learning how to live again, rediscover who I am now, and choosing myself without guilt. If you’re a widow, someone starting over, or anyone who feels behind in life, this space is for you. So here it goes…

My 2026 Manifesto

I’ve spent a decade feeling like my life didn’t unfold the way it was supposed to, and I have been bitter about that.

Like I was behind. Like I missed something everyone else seemed to get easily. Like I had to work twice as hard just to feel okay, while other people moved forward without losing what I lost. I have carried sadness, lonliness, bitterness and resentment around for too long.

As I step into 2026, I don’t want to carry that story anymore. This is no longer my truth.

This year, I’m choosing a different way of living. I am choosing to step into the life I deserve to have and the person I am meant to be.

I’m no longer measuring my life by what didn’t work out, what I had to grieve, or how far ahead everyone else appears to be. I’m done shrinking myself to fit timelines that were never built for someone who had to start over. I am done feeling sorry for myself and my circumstances.

In 2026, I stop asking what’s wrong with me and start honoring what I’ve survived and all that I have overcome.

I’m releasing the shame I’ve been carrying for how I am, how I feel, and how long healing has taken. Nothing is embarrassing about rebuilding a life after it breaks. There is nothing weak about wanting more than survival. It is time. Enough is enough.

This is the year I stop chasing people and things who don’t choose me and weren’t meant for me.
I stop explaining myself to people who aren’t listening.
I stop proving my worth in hopes of being loved, understood, or included.

Instead, I am choosing peace over performance.
Consistency over chaos.
Self-respect over comfort.

I’m learning that bitterness isn’t something you force yourself to drop but instead it softens when your life begins to feel fuller. I won’t shame myself for noticing how unfair things have been. But I won’t let resentment steal my future anymore either. It is time to step out of the shadows I have been living in and step into what is next.

So, 2026 is about rediscovering who I am now.

Not who I was before everything changed.

Not who I had to be to raise my boys alone.
Not who people expect me to be.
But the woman standing here: wiser, softer, stronger, still becoming.

This year, I commit to caring for my body instead of criticizing it. I move because it helps me feel alive. I rest without guilt. I create because it keeps me connected to myself. I say yes to connection and no to emotional crumbs. I allow joy without apologizing for it. I allow myself to make mistakes, take chances and grow into the person I am meant to be,

I let myself be seen…slowly, safely, honestly.

I’m building a life that feels like mine, even if it looks quieter or different than I once imagined. I understand now that happiness isn’t a destination you arrive at one day, no matter how badly I want it to, but rather it’s a series of small, honest choices made again and again. And I am choosing me.

I don’t need to be fully healed to begin.
I don’t need permission to want more.
I don’t need to go back to become whole.

In 2026, I choose myself. Not dramatically, not perfectly, but consistently.

This is my year of becoming.
And this series is where I begin.

So, What’s Coming Next?

In this series, I’ll be sharing:

  • what healing actually looks like after loss
  • how I’m rediscovering who I am now
  • the glow-up that happens quietly, from the inside out
  • navigating loneliness, comparison, and new friendships
  • choosing joy without guilt

If you’re rebuilding, becoming, or beginning again… I’m glad you’re here.

Posted in grief, healing, widow, widowhood

imploding

Posted on by Widow with wings

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about stars.
How they shine, how they burn, how they eventually collapse under the weight of their own gravity.

And strangely… how much I can relate to them.

Because when Pat died, I didn’t just lose someone.
Something inside me imploded – quietly at first, then all at once.
The life I knew folded in on itself, the way a star does when it can no longer hold the pressure that once made it shine.
I don’t recognize myself. I don’t recognize the world. I don’t recognize the version of “me” that used to move through life without thinking.

People don’t talk about the moment after the collapse – not the grief itself, but the aftershocks of it all.
How the light dims.
How the heat changes.
How everything becomes silent and unbearably loud at the same time.

That’s the part no one prepares you for.

But here’s the thing about stars:
When they implode… they also become something else.
Not the version they were before, not the version they tried to hold together, but something new, raw, powerful, and strangely beautiful.

And that’s where I am now.

I’m not the widow standing in the immediate explosion anymore.
I’m not the woman holding her boys and trying to pretend she’s strong while her entire universe collapses around her.
And I’m not the version of myself who lived before the implosion because she doesn’t exist anymore, no matter how hard I try to find her.

Right now, I’m somewhere in that strange, sacred middle. In the inbetween.

The part where the dust is still settling.
The part where the heat still lingers.
The part where pieces of the old me are drifting, rearranging, forming into something I’ve never been before.

It’s uncomfortable.
It’s unfamiliar.
And somehow, even here, there’s a tiny spark of hope.

Because a star doesn’t implode and disappear.
It implodes and becomes something new.
A beginning wrapped inside an ending.
A place where new stars form.

And maybe that’s what this season of widowhood is for me.

Not a rebirth I asked for.
Not a transformation I planned.
But a slow gathering of everything that survived the collapse, my strength, my softness, my hurt, my hope, and letting those pieces create something new.

I still miss the life I had.
I still talk to the person I lost.
I still feel the gravity of what imploded.

But I’m also noticing tiny sparks rising out of the rubble:
A moment of clarity about who I’m becoming.
A sense of direction I haven’t felt in years.
A strength that isn’t forced. It’s just there, quietly, steadily.
A voice inside me that whispers, “Keep going, you’re forming again.”

I’m not “healed,” whatever that means.
But I’m not broken in the same way I was.
I’m something new now. Still glowing, still shifting, still becoming.

A widow, yes.
But also a woman rebuilding her life.

If you’re here too, standing in the remnants, wondering what comes next, just know this:

Implosions aren’t the end.
They’re the beginning of the next version of your light.

And you’re allowed to shine again, even if it looks different than before.
Even if you’re still gathering your pieces.
Even if you don’t feel ready.

New stars take time to form.
And so do we.

Posted in grief, healing, widow

The new perspective I never asked for

Posted on by Widow with wings

When you lose your spouse and are suddenly left to navigate life on your own, something changes inside you in a way that’s hard to explain. You gain a new perspective on life…you see what truly matters, you stop worrying about the small things, and you try to keep your priorities straight.

But along with that clarity comes a deep sense of loneliness. You realize that this new way of seeing the world can make you feel completely out of place or that no one understands where you are coming from. It’s not that you want people to understand what you’re going through – because for them to truly understand, they would have to lose someone they love, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Still, it can be hard to live in a world that feels different. I often find myself struggling to figure out where I fit and what the purpose of it all truly is. It can feel like standing in the middle of a tornado – the chaos of life and our society is spinning around me, but I’m just left alone trying to stay on my feet and make sense of it all.

For the past ten and a half years, I’ve been learning what it means to rebuild, to find my footing again, and to keep moving forward even when life doesn’t look like I thought it would. From the outside, I think I look like I have been doing pretty well with all of that. But the reality is, nothing makes sense to me anymore. I find myself shaking my head a lot, feeling confused, and not understanding the “why” of anything.

Before Pat’s death, life just moved. I went through my days like most people do — juggling work, family, the boys, daily routines, not really thinking about how fragile it all was. I planned for the future, assumed time was on our side, and took for granted that life would keep following the same rhythm. It felt safe, steady, and predictable. It just was. I was simply living without a lot of thought about it.

But after he died, everything shifted. The world didn’t look the same anymore, and neither did I. The things that once came naturally, getting up, going through the motions, planning for the future, suddenly felt impossible. Even the simple, everyday moments that used to mean nothing now carry a strange weight. Making dinner, running errands, sitting in silence – it all feels different now. But its more than that even. The way the world works and how people are is difficult to understand now.

People often talk about “getting back to normal,” but normal disappeared the day he did. There’s no going back to what life was before, because that life doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve tried to recreate it, to pretend that if I just stay busy enough, it might all start to make sense again. But no matter what I do, that old rhythm of life never returns. And the problem is that no rhythm of life has returned. There hasn’t been a reset or reboot on life. I mean life is going, things are moving forward, but I am left feeling, well I guess, alone. I’m not alone in reality. I have people around me, I have people supporting me, people loving me. It’s just this unexplainable feeling.

I guess what I’ve come to realize recently is that I can’t find “normal” anywhere, not in the places we used to go, not in routines that once felt so steady, not even in myself. I can’t just live life the way I used to because none of it feels right anymore. It’s like standing in the middle of a familiar room that suddenly feels foreign. Everything’s in the same place, but nothing feels the same. And maybe it is the same and it is me that has changed and that is what is leaving me feeling this way. Maybe I just don’t know how the “new” me fits in the world, or maybe the whole world has lost its mind.

There are days I feel like I’m losing my mind trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand why this happened, what it means, how to keep moving forward, how to find peace and happiness again and how to find my place in this world. And in those moments, the loneliness hits hard. It’s not just the absence of him—it’s the absence of the person I was when he was here. The absence of the life I had before. The absence of when the world made sense to me.

I don’t know if this even makes sense to anyone who hasn’t lived through it or if it really makes sense at all. What I do know is that being a widow is hard. It’s still hard, even after a decade.

Yes, I’m in a better place than I was ten years ago. I’ve grown, I’ve healed, I’ve learned how to live again in some ways. But somehow, life feels more complicated than ever. The world itself feels chaotic, and I’m just trying to stay afloat while carrying this different perspective that loss leaves behind.

Maybe there isn’t an answer. Perhaps it’s just about learning to live inside the questions, to sit with the confusion, the loneliness, and the change. I don’t have it all figured out, and maybe I never will. But I’m learning that healing isn’t about finding clarity; it’s about showing up for the life that’s still here. Some days that means just breathing through the ache, and other days it means taking a small step forward. I am just going to keep trying to make sense of this world that no longer makes sense and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Posted in accepting, grief, healing, solo parenting, widow

An Empty Nest

Posted on by Widow with wings

This school year has been the start of so much new in my world.  I left my school I had been working at for almost 10 years to start a new career, but at the last minute received an offer I couldn’t refuse from another school to continue my path as a high school counselor.  Not a new career, but a new school and new environment.  Seamus, my oldest son, has graduated college and is starting his path in life trying to kick start his career in the film industry, moving to Atlanta and making his own way.  Aidan, the youngest, has graduated high school and headed off to college.  Leaving me all alone with the menargery of animals I own, left to figure out what is next.  I didn’t think it would be all that difficult to be living alone, until it happened.  And then I realized I never really lived all alone.  Right after college I basically moved in with Pat and then we were married and then quickly all three boys came along.  Even after Pat died, I still had the boys at home with me, so living on my own is new for me.  And let me tell you it isn’t the logistics of being alone or not having the boys here in my daily routine, it’s the silence that came with it.  And in that silence came everything and every emotion I never took the time or had the time to process or experience when Pat died.  It all came up and I had to deal with it all.  There were alot of emotions…missing the boys, worrying about the boys, trying to find my way in my new job, feeling lonely in the house while i was figuring out yet again another new normal.  But the worst of it all is the grieving that I never did.  The grieivng that I couldn’t do because I had to step up and take care of the boys and our lives and survive for the past ten + years.  It was grieving the loss of me and the life I had and the life I felt I was supposed to have.  I had shoved all that down and just did what I had to do and left all of those emotions behind to be dealt with later.  And so here we are….LATER.  I was not ready for this.  I found myself lost – not the lost of what do i do now that the kids are gone, but lost as in who the hell am I.  Where did this person come from?  What am I doing?  How did my life end up like this?  Why am I where I am?  What am I supposed to do now?…Simple questions to ponder in the stillness and quietness of your home, right?  I spent a lot of time in bed, a lot of time crying, pages and pages of journaling, searching for books on empty nesters as a widow – which don’t exist…yet (stay tuned! :))  I felt like I was right back to the time after Pat died where I snapped out of my daze and started searching for help.  I was falling quickly into despair, not wanting to talk to anyone, do anything, get out of bed or make anymore decisions.  I just wanted to disappear and forget it all.  I know for a mom, when your kids leave the house there is a time period where you have to figure out what you are supposed to do now because all your time and attention had been on the kids.  And I had some of that too, but it was compounded by the work that hadn’t been done or the grace that I hadn’t given myself in the past that rose quickly to the surface.  I didn’t know any other way to get through it than to simply go through it.  

I allowed myself to feel it all. I felt the pain, the sadness, the anger, and the bitterness. I let myself feel sorry for myself until I was almost ready to just throw in the towel and give up. And then that was enough. I started to do some inner work and tried to look at my “Former” life without the rose-tinted glasses on. You see, when we look back and remember what was, we recall all the good; it is romanticized and idealistic, often overshadowing the struggles we faced. But when you step back and look at how life was, and list it out for real, and then make a list of how it is now, and add in what you want it to look like, it was amazing to see that I really am doing great despite everything. I have truly grown and changed, and I have a life—though not fully created just yet, there is a path forward filled with potential and opportunity. Things are growing and moving along, and though I loved my life before, I was a different person then. I needed the opportunity to say goodbye to the girl I was before, to reflect deeply and acknowledge who I had been. I actually wrote her a letter—to the woman I was before he died. That was an extremely therapeutic exercise, a cathartic release that allowed me to articulate feelings I had bottled up for so long. I even found that there were still pieces of that girl inside of me that I had kept pushed down, almost as if to protect her from further hurt. I think it is finally time to remove the armor and let her out again, to embrace the fragments of my past that still resonate with who I am becoming. This act of saying goodbye to what once was has released a great deal of pain and shame I had been carrying around for years, even if it was hidden beneath the surface. It has given me the freedom to start focusing on what I want and who I am now. I now have the chance to see who this new Denise truly is and where she fits in my new normal, which I am creating as I go, piecing together my reality one piece at a time. As scary as it all is, it’s a little bit exciting too. I have been thinking a lot about how I used to do things, back when I was a goal setter… I had dreams and goal markers I wanted to hit, a timeline mapped out with expectations of achievements. But now, I just want to find my peace. I want to discover joy in the little moments, simply finding my way one day at a time. A lot easier said than done, but I am happy to say that this empty nest timeframe, though painful and difficult, has been profoundly transformative for me. I am still at the beginning of this new chapter, brimming with uncertainty but also hope. I know that in the near future, there will be even more life changes—moving, retirement, chapter 2, weddings, and grandbabies. I want to be able to be fully present for all of those moments, to bask in the joy that each new milestone brings. So for me, this season of having an empty nest has been about cleaning out my house, literally and figuratively, which was previously full of pain and sadness, to make room for what is to come, hopefully a fresh start filled with light, laughter, and love.

Posted in widow

10 Years Later

Posted on by Widow with wings

I can’t believe it has been ten years since I last saw you, or talked to you, or simply sat in your presence. Time has gone so slowly since the day you left this earth, and yet it has flown by. So much has happened and so much has changed in our lives and in the world around us; I sometimes find it hard to grasp how everything feels so different yet so familiar. The boys aren’t little boys anymore; they have transformed into grown men, each creating their own paths in life, filled with dreams of their own, navigating life with a courage that reminds me of you.

I’ve been thinking about when you left us and how I never thought I would be able to breathe again. I could barely get myself out of bed let alone think about a future. I lost everything in that moment and I was lost and confused and had no idea of how to move forward without you. But time just keeps moving and the world just keeps spinning whether I want to move forward or not. And as time passes and things change, pain heals. It eases, it changes, it simply becomes a part of you like a scar or a tatoo you carry forever. Each day I woke up, did what I had to do and slowly started to sculpt a new life.

Things have changed remarkably over the years. I can hardly remember everything we’ve been through in the last decade. The first significant event after your passing was seeing our home crumble around us; we had to relocate for a few months, and the place we once shared has since been beautifully transformed into a new house. After that, I left my job, dedicating a year to stay home with the boys as I figured out our next steps. Quinn and Aidan transferred from Troy Schools to private school—though not to Brother Rice as you might have wished, Notre Dame has turned out to be a good choice! I took a position at the school and finally completed my testing for my counseling license. Shortly after, I began working as a counselor, fulfilling a dream I once thought would remain out of reach. Seamus graduated high school and moved to Savannah for art school, and Quinn also graduated and is at college in Ohio. Now, Aidan is preparing to graduate high school and is considering what is next in his future. I finally have a daughter in my life with Seamus’s girlfriend Sarah joining our family. And here I am making a bold move by leaving the school environment to start working in private practice as a therapist for the very first time. Along this journey, we’ve welcomed two dogs, three cats, a rabbit, and a fish into our family. Somehow, I’ve managed to keep us afloat and even bought cars for the kids. So much has occurred in such a brief span of time. You’ve missed it all, but I know you would be immensely proud of each of us.

The grief doesn’t consume us anymore. We still miss you like crazy; your laughter, your kindness, and your warmth are irreplaceable…we talk about you, laugh about you, and remember you every single day. We notice your absence in the smallest moments and wish you were here to see the world today, to share in both the good times and challenges we now face. But we have also found a new life, for we aren’t the same as we were before you left. Your death left a profound hole in each of us that has healed, but it was healed with new memories, new meaning, and new perspectives on life that continue to evolve. God has become a central figure in my life, a source of strength and comfort. He has carried me through these past ten years, guiding me in moments of uncertainty and holding me close in moments of despair. Nothing is as it was when you were here…how could it possibly be. The world stopped for us the day you left, but thankfully, it slowly started spinning again. It may look different, with new faces and places, and feel different, shaped by our experiences and growth, but it is still spinning. We are learning to cherish the beautiful memories you left behind while moving ahead into the future.

Ten years, a whole decade without you…not what I would have imagined my life to be, but I have to honest, it isn’t bad. It’s just insanely different. We are happy. We make new memories, have new traditions, feel hopeful, have dreams and love. We have all of these things not because you are gone, but because you are apart of us still. You live in our hearts and in our minds, just like you told us you would. It is because of you and the love you had for all of us that we have been able to forge a new path in this world. Your hand has guided my path these last ten years. I know it was you wanting me to step out of my comfort zone, try new things, take chances and find love again. I know this because you loved me so much. That is something I do not doubt. You may have left me in the physical sense on this earth, but I know you are with me every moment of every day. I see you in the boys faces, I hear you in music, I smell you when the boys wear your cologne, I feel you near when I worry my parenting or decisions I am making. You are here. You are proud of me. You want me to be happy. And you will always love me. These are truths I do not doubt.

You have been gone now half of the time we were together. It is unbelievable how quickly time has gone by. When this journey first began, I never thought I would make it to ten years. I couldn’t imagine anything without you by my side. But what I have learned over these years is what life is about for me. It is about love. It is about caring for others and loving the people in your life, cherishing every moment and memory created together. It really is that simple. Love never ends; it evolves, deepens, and expands. You are forever in my heart, and you are a part of me and my story, woven into the fabric of who I am. Nothing takes away from the love we shared; it remains a guiding force in my life. But the amazing thing about love is that it isn’t limited; it knows no boundaries. It isn’t something you only get once and are done. Love is unlimited in your life, allowing us to experience its beauty time and time again and I deserve to live a life again, filled with laughter and joy. I deserve to love again, to open my heart to new possibilities. I deserve to find happiness again, embracing every opportunity that comes my way, nurturing the love that resides within me and radiates outward. I know you wouldn’t want me to waste a single moment on this earth doing anything other than living my best life. You would have given anything to have one more day to live, so why would I waste the gift I have been given?

I’m not going to. I am done simply trying to survive. That chapter is closing, and I can finally feel a sense of peace washing over me. These ten years have shown me that I am stronger and more capable than I ever imagined possible. It is scary to live this life without you and navigate it on my own, but I have raised your boys the best I could, instilling in them values and lessons that I hope will guide them throughout their lives. I couldn’t be prouder of the men they are turning out to be; their kindness and resilience inspire me every day. I have worked hard to support us and build a good life despite the challenges that we faced. I have taken risks with trying new careers, stepping out of my comfort zone, and embracing new opportunities that have come my way, and I am ready to do it again. I am ready to do it all again…to live, to love, and continue to grow, to explore the world with open arms, and to discover all the joys that life has yet to offer.

Posted in grief, widow

7 Hidden Losses After Losing a Spouse

Posted on by Widow with wings

Grief is a complicated journey, filled with layers of loss that extend far beyond the death of a partner. When my husband passed away, I discovered that mourning isn’t a linear process; it’s a winding path filled with unexpected losses. I never imagined that I was losing more than just my husband, which was already more than I could handle. I found myself having to mourn different aspects of my life that had changed or disappeared forever. Here are seven of the things I’ve found myself grieving besides the physical loss of my husband. 

1. The Future We Planned Together

When you lose a partner, you also lose the shared dreams and plans you envisioned for your life. Every goal, every trip, and every moment of joy you anticipated is suddenly out of reach. The future feels uncertain, and you have to mourn the life you had mapped out together. For me it was our dreams of watching our children grow up, attending high school graduations, teaching the boys to drive, weddings, grandchildren, travel and retirement. All the things we had talked about since the beginning of us. It all vanished in a blink of an eye, leaving a void that felt unbearable. The path in front of you is now a blank canvas. You have to design a new future for yourself. This isn’t something that hits all at once either. With each life event, the pain creeps back in and knocks you off your axis yet again. The future you thought you were going to have is gone and it take time to wrap your brain around what you are supposed to do now.

2. Your Identity

Becoming a widow forces you to confront your identity outside of your relationship as a couple. You have to rediscover who you are without your partner by your side, embarking on a journey filled with self-reflection and sometimes painful realizations. You can’t just pretend to be okay and continue doing the same things you always did; you have fundamentally changed after everything you’ve been through. Your perspective on life shifts, and you realize that many of the things you once enjoyed no longer feel fun. You find yourself trying to navigate this unfamiliar “new normal,” learning to rely on yourself in ways you never had before. Embracing solitude becomes both a challenge and a blessing, helping you discover your own strength and resilience in the face of your experiences. But along the way, you might feel like you’ve lost yourself. You have to reintroduce yourself to yourself after the loss of a loved one. There are growing pains in your personal relationship with yourself, and it takes time to figure out who you are and what you want out of your new life. This has been one of my greatest struggles and the longest secondary grief I have had to experience. I am still discovering these answers today.

3. Friendships That Fade

You quickly learn that friendships are not immune to the impact of loss. Many connections change or fade, leaving you with a deeper sense of loneliness. The realization that some friendships were built on shared experiences as a couple is difficult to accept, and mourning those relationships add another layer of grief.  Many friendships shifted or disappeared after my husband’s death. I don’t blame anyone; death brings a mix of emotions for everyone, and no two people react in the same way or cope with grief similarly. I fully understand this complexity, yet it was still something I had to grieve. This change in friendships creates a secondary loneliness that can arrive sooner than expected, increasing your feelings of isolation and making moments you once cherished feel solitary and bittersweet. In navigating this path, I discovered that rebuilding connections often requires vulnerability and patience, as the core of friendship may shift but doesn’t have to disappear completely.

4. Financial Stability

Losing a spouse can drastically change your financial situation, creating instability in every part of life. The emotional drama connected with such a loss can complicate managing finances alone, which often feels overwhelming and adds to the unexpected burden during a time of grief. In addition to dealing with the ridiculous emotional pain of loss, you must now try to find your way through the complicated mix of bills, investments, and responsibilities that were once shared with your partner, each of which now falls solely on your shoulders. Every month brings new challenges, from figuring out insurance claims and understanding the nuances of your financial situation to making critical decisions about your joint assets and any lingering debts. This pressure can push you to learn about budgeting and long-term planning, all while struggling with feelings of loneliness, confusion, and uncertainty about the future. The financial strain sometimes is not just a passing phase; it can become a constant source of stress that looms over your  life, as you worry about your financial stability and how to support your family . I have found myself questioning what steps to take next and how to best take care of my family, which brings me further anxiety as I try to find my way in this new life.

5. Role in the Family

With a partner gone, your family roles can unexpectedly shift, creating a dynamic that feels both challenging and unfamiliar. Mourning this change becomes a complex emotional process that can often feel overwhelming. With your husband gone, everything changes dramatically, leaving you to navigate a landscape you never anticipated. Now, you have to be the breadwinner, the head of the household, and the sole decision-maker—responsibilities that once felt far removed from your daily life. You’ve suddenly become a single parent and sole provider, thrown into a reality where the comfort of teamwork is replaced by the solitude of doing it all alone.

For me, I felt lost and unprepared, especially after spending so much time as a stay-at-home mom focused on raising my children and managing the household. Although I returned to work a few years before my husband got sick, my main focus had been on our young boys. In an instant, your life is turned upside down, and you must handle everything yourself—from comforting your children through their grief to instilling a sense of normalcy in the midst of chaos. I needed to find a full-time job with health benefits, manage the bills, balance the budget, and maintain the home and cars—all tasks that now filled my days with constant, daunting pressure. I had to take on the role of both momma and daddy, navigating my own sorrow while ensuring my boys feel secure. Unfortunately, I also felt the need to present myself as a strong, resilient widow, smiling to keep those around me at ease, even when my heart aches and the future feels uncertain.

6. Self-Esteem

The challenges of widowhood can profoundly affect your self-esteem, often leading to deep feelings of inadequacy and loss.  This sudden absence of your partner often leaves you feeling lost and unsure of yourself.  It creates a void that not only changes your daily routine but also leaves you questioning your worth and capabilities. As you step into new roles, such as becoming a single parent, the weight of unfamiliar responsibilities can feel overwhelming. You may feel you lack the skills, or  question your ability to navigate parenting alone and wonder if you alone can provide the love and support your children need. Yet, during this struggle, there’s an opportunity for growth. Rebuilding your confidence is a painful but essential part of this journey, requiring time and deep reflection on who you are as an individual beyond the relationship you once had. Embracing this process can lead to a new understanding of your strength, resilience, and the realization that you are capable of rising to the occasion for both yourself and your children. This can ultimately create a path toward healing and self-discovery.

7. The Life I Once Knew

Perhaps most profoundly, I mourn the life I had. Every moment of laughter, every quiet evening together, and every shared experience now holds a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Each day brings reminders of that void, making it essential to acknowledge and honor the life I cherished.  With loss comes the realization that life is unpredictable. Mourning the sense of control I once had over our lives was a profound part of my grief journey, as I learned to navigate a world that felt suddenly chaotic.  I mourned the everyday moments that defined our life together—shared laughter, quiet evenings, and inside jokes. Each memory became a reminder of what was lost, amplifying the feeling of emptiness.  it’s not just the presence of your loved one that is absent; it feels as though a part of your very essence has been torn away. More than I ever imagined or understood, I found myself mourning not just the companionship, but also the shared dreams, the laughter in the quiet moments, and the future that now seemed drenched in uncertainty. Each day has been a journey through emptiness and memory, faced with reminders of what once was. This is a process that I am not sure I have made it through in almost ten years, as I often wonder if the ache will ever fade or if it will forever linger like a shadow, teaching me resilience in ways I never thought I would need to learn.

Embracing the Journey

These losses may not be visible to others, but they shape your experience of grief in profound ways. Mourning goes beyond the absence of a loved one; it’s about acknowledging all the pieces of your life that have changed. Through this journey, you can learn to embrace solitude, reflect on your emotions, and appreciate your own company.

While the ache of loss remains, you might begin to see it as part of your life’s fabric—a reminder of resilience and growth. Each day brings a new opportunity for you to find joy in the present, build new connections, and discover who you are in this new chapter. The road ahead may be uncertain, but it is filled with possibilities, and you can learn to unwrap this new life with hope.

Posted in grief, widow

Finding Myself After Loss: A Journey of Self-Discovery

Posted on by Widow with wings

When I first started this blog, it was all about my upcoming birthday—specifically, hitting the big “4-0.” Back then, I thought that milestone would be monumental. It seemed like a significant moment that would bring me new experiences and opportunities. I imagined entering my 40s would bring me a time of growth and exploration and a chapter of self-discovery. I thought it would be a time of personal evolution. It was supposed to be filled with dreams that had long been postponed. Little did I know that turning 40 would be the least of my worries. My life was about to be completely flipped upside down by cancer and death. These challenges would test my resilience and strength. I had no idea what storms were brewing on the horizon. I was unaware that the next few years would bring trials that would redefine my perspective and transform my reality in ways I could never have expected.

The Weight of Widowhood

The blog then became a space for me to talk about the woes of cancer, and all that came with it. And unfortunately, it soon became a documentation of life as a widow. I wrote about the first few years of life without Pat and all that I was struggling with. I stopped writing on December 30, 2021 because I was done with everything that had to do with being a widow. I wanted to move on from this part of my life and I just wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to let the label of widow just be something that was a part of me. It was something that happened to me. It would not define me. I stopped writing and disappeared.

Fast forward three years later, and here I am, 50 years old now. It’s hard to believe how quickly time has flown. But now, as I reflect on my journey, I feel it’s time to start anew. I have learned that the label of widow isn’t just a label, it is a designation that has changed me completely. I lost the old me when Pat died and yet I have been trying my hardest to keep living life as the old me. You will hear a lot about how this just isn’t working. I am tired of trying to live a life that isn’t mine anymore. I want to reclaim my voice and get my life back on track, whatever track that may be.

Surviving not Thriving

The world around me has changed dramatically since my last post in 2021. My life has changed too, filled with new experiences, challenges, and lessons learned. I have found that time moves slowly in the moment. Each day drags along. Yet looking back, it feels like a blink in time. It is as if the years slipped through my fingers without warning. The world has kept on spinning. Time has kept on flying. And I have simply been trying to get by. The journey of widowhood has felt like a relentless roller coaster ride filled with emotional ups and downs that often catch me off guard. It has been unpredictable; nothing unfolded as I had imagined it would. Nothing is as I thought it would be. This has led me to feel lost and confused. I am left wondering where I fit in this world and who I even am anymore.

The Reality of Single Motherhood

I had no idea how to be a single mother raising three boys alone. I had no idea how I would make ends meet financially. But I did what I had to do each and every day to take care of my family. My boys are now young men, aged 21, 19, and 18, each finding their place in the world. Two are in college, pursuing their dreams. The youngest is a senior in high school preparing to take those first steps into adulthood. Somehow I have managed to support us and have given us a comfortable life, even if it’s not the life I once envisioned. I have learned how to juggle work and finances. I have navigated the complexities of college applications and drivers’ training. I’ve tackled it all. I’ve survived the whirlwind of adolescence, dating, heartbreaks, and graduations—all while keeping all my focus on my boys.

The Journey of Grief

But as I sit here, nearly a decade after Pat’s passing, I realize my journey through grief has been tumultuous. The emotions crash over me like waves at the beach, unpredictable and overwhelming. Just when I think I’m in a good place, I find myself curled up. I cry for all I’ve lost and for where I thought my life would be. For the past ten years, I’ve been simply surviving. I do whatever it takes to make sure my children are happy, healthy, and safe. I have not been thriving. In reality, I haven’t even been living.

The Search for Identity

Here’s an even bigger problem…Almost every day I wake up feeling miserable with my life. I find myself struggling with questions of identity, purpose, and direction. Who am I now? What do I truly want from life? While I know my core values and beliefs, the goals and dreams that once fueled me are distant and unclear. I feel trapped in survival mode, longing to step into a fuller existence. It’s an identity crisis I do not know how to navigate.

The Challenge of Reinvention

This is a different kind of identity crisis than anything I have experienced before. It is rooted in trying to pretend to be the person I was before Pat’s illness and death. All awhile, I am trying to figure out who I am now. This relentless effort has drained me, leaving me bitter and angry at times, mourning the dreams I once had. I’ve struggled to connect with people, attempting to fit into a version of myself that no longer exists. Slowly, I’ve started to distance myself from those who can’t see the new me—a me I’m still trying to define, and found myself alone to find my way through this journey. You see my perspective has shifted. I see the world through a different lens. Many things that once seemed important now feel trivial. This new viewpoint has led to feelings of isolation. I have had to set clear boundaries, prioritizing my energy and time, but the loneliness persists. I do recognize that I’ve isolated myself. I am left struggling alone to navigate social situations. I am trying to find where I truly belong.

A New Path Forward

So here I am, I feel a bit lost and I am unsure of who I am and where I am going. I am more than ready to step out of this exhausting period of my life and start on a new path. I am ready to explore the new me and pursue my new dreams. I want to share my journey with you with an open heart. I invite you to join me as I venture into this unknown. I am hoping to discover not just who I am but who I can become in the process. I will learn from past experiences and use those lessons to fuel my growth. Let’s explore what we can all do to stop simply surviving and start living a life that is thriving.

Posted in grief, healing, widow

I can’t fix it.

Posted on by Widow with wings

I think the best place to start with this post is to begin with an apology. I apologize ahead of time for the disorganization of the writing I am about to share. I also want to apologize for the hiatus. COVID-19 entered our worlds and boy did it shut me down. I haven’t written a single word since it all began though I feel like I have had a lot to say. So I am writing again. I am going to give it another go to get back to what makes me feel good and what I feel I can do to truly help others.

That is where I will begin this writing….helping others. I have always felt like my purpose in life is to help others. I have a desire to make a difference in others lives and though the way in which I have thought about doing these things have changed, I still believe that is what I am here on earth to do. I used to think I had to be apart of something “bigger” than me in order to make a difference in this world. I wanted to be apart of some big movement, or make a global impact and that is how I was going to make a difference. Then after I lost Pat, I felt like I was going to make a difference with other widows. But I unfortunately had to make a living and support my boys and get a job to pay the bills. I have been a high school counselor for the past four years and this has taken me away from my trying to help widows, though it has also filled the need to make a difference in peoples lives.

You see, these kids that I work with struggle with so much. I want to make it better for them. I want to take away their fears, their pain, their sadness, but I can’t. I can’t fix it for them. I can’t tell you how many times I go into my administrator and ask for a magic wand. A magic wand to make a difference in these kids lives, a real difference. There has to be something I can do to change the environment, or culture, or toxicity that our children are growing up with in this age of social media. I want to fix things for my own children as well. I want everything to be smooth for them and for them to genuinely be happy, good people. I don’t care about academic accolades or monetary success in life. I want them to simply be happy. Whenever any of these people, my children at school or my children at home, are in pain, I am in pain. This is who I am and how I am; for good or bad. My point of this is that I always want to help others.

The problem is that I struggle with helping myself. My life has changed so much since Pat died. It has been 6 1/2 years and yet there are still so many wounds and so much collataral damage that came from the whole experience. But I don’t want to admit that. I continue moving forward and being strong and handling things as it comes. When inside I am boiling over with emotion, confusion and anger. None of this I want to show to the world, and sometimes not even to myself.

Before Pat died, I was always an emotional person. I would cry at Kleenex commercials and Family Feud when the families won, but I had control of my emotions then. Since he died, and really probably from the time he was diagnosed, my emotions have grown stronger. I feel so much more now than I ever did before. It is something that is difficult to explain to people. I feel people’s pain and their happiness and there is no controlling it. I feel their happiness, I feel their sadness. I feel connected to others in a way I can’t explain. Every emotion is just larger than life. I have been ashamed or embarrassed by this because I thought it meant that I was weak….something I NEVER want to be considered. It’s not a weakness though. It is simply part of the new me and it is who I am. This affirmation or acknowledgement of who I am doesn’t make things easier though.

This has become a problem simply because in feeling everything so deeply I am often left feeling as though I am not helping anyone. This goes against everything I want and everything that I am. I feel like I am wasting all that I have to offer others and a little bit insignificant. Nothing I do is helping and the pain keeps coming and I keep getting overwhelmed with emotion that I can’t release because I am afraid to show what I am feeling. A vicious circle that needs to stop.

As I stopped for a moment to reflect on why I was feeling so empty, useless, and beat down, I went for a walk. As it has happened in the past, I ended up walking and crying throughout my neighborhood as I realized what I was feeling, wanting, and needing. And here it is… losing Pat has left me feeling that I HAVE to do certain things. I no longer have the priviledge to go out and do something I want to do without having consequences. I have three children to support, I have a home to maintain, I have a future to save for. I do not have anyone else to fall back on or push things onto. I am doing this alone. I am not complaining about this, just making it clear, that I am a solo parent who has to provide for the family. This limits me in my choices. And sometimes, well often times, I feel trapped. Not having choices or options can leave you feeling pretty isolated and alone. Nothing that I used to do that made me feel good matters anymore. I don’t write, I don’t read, I definitely don’t go out with friends, I’ve stopped exercising, or even watching t.v. I start and end my day wanting to go to bed.

First thing in the morning, I am counting down until I can go home and put on sweatpants and crawl back into bed. When I get home, I want dinner to be over so I can clean up the kitchen and head off to bed. Not a real exciting way to live. I have lost any enjoyment in my job, for it has simply become that, a job. I am counting down to retirement ( many years away ) and wishing for a vacation all alone by the beach ( not happening). None of this is what I wanted for myself, for my children, and definitely nothing I promised myself after Pat died.

I promised to live my life that I was blessed to have. Live the life he would have wanted to live, or wanted for me to live. I didn’t want to take a single moment for granted, or waste a breath on this earth to anything that did not fill my soul. Life is too short for that and “somedays” don’t always arrive. I wasn’t going to sit around and just pass the time so that someday I would have what I wanted, or to go after what I wanted in this life. And yet, 6 1/2 years later, here I am.

I have tried so many things throughout this wonderful grief process in this world of widowhood to make things better….to fix it, but I have arrived right back in this spot anyways. I think I have been trying to live the life that “I” think is right for me instead of doing what God has planned for me. I keep thinking I can do this all on my own. I should know by now that that does not work. So as this year is coming to end and a new year full of hope and possibility is on the horizon, I am going to take a new approach to things in my life. I going to try to live the life and walk the path that God wants for me. I am going to listen to my heart and to my gut to make my decisions rather than my hard headed stubbornness that I usually rely on. I need to change something or else nothing is ever going to change.

So its my approach that I think I need to change. I am going to stop worrying about “somedays” down the road… Easier said than done…and I am going to start taking care of me now. Right now, where I am in the moment and listen to what God is telling me. He will lead me to happiness and joy even if the path doesn’t make sense to me in the moment. I have to believe that. I am not one for resolutions, but rather I like to look for a FOCUS for the year; something to works towards. This is what it needs to be…I want to take this year for me; to follow my heart, my instincts and find the happiness I know I deserve. I can’t continue down this same path I have been going because I have found nothing but sadness going that way. This is where I am starting in 2022 and I can hardly wait to see what comes my way.

Posted in grief, widow

March Madness

Posted on by Widow with wings

There’s so much going on in the world right now I think we all feel like we are going a little mad. Trying to figure out what we are suppose to do to protect our love ones, take care of our children’s education at home and manage our career at the same time. Time to sit and breathe and contemplate seems like a gift that belongs to someone else. But before all this Corona craziness started, I had already been struggling with my emotions, my focus and management of my time.

I am rolling into the five year anniversary of Pat’s death. March comes storming into my life just the same as it did five years ago. March 23 was D day for us. The doctors had given Pat six months to live with the end date being March 23. Therefore, March was a gloomy, dreary, dark month for me in 2015. I was just waiting for the end to come. He was declining quickly at that point and everyday was painful, stressful and I felt like the world was weighing on my shoulders. I hated the pain he was in. I hated the way our lives were at the time. I hated everything about everything. But I loved him dearly. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want our life together to come to a screeching halt. But I did want the tornado and chaos of Cancer to be over. So it was a confusing, depressing time. We all know how that ended. On March 23 – of all days – Pat had a seizure and this was the beginning of the end for him. He lived in and out of a comatose state 13 more days. And left this earth on April 5.

Five years. I can’t believe it has been five years!

So when March 1, 2020 came around, my subconscious kicked in and a a wave of darkness came over me. I started to struggle with being okay. There was no real reason for it. It just kind of takes over. I started to simply feel sad. After a few days I started having flashbacks. This kind of thing happened a lot during the first year after his death where I would remember certain moments in time: his last breath, the casket closing, dropping the rose into the grave, But this time it is different. The flashbacks are events that have taken place throughout the past five years. Things I have forgotten about as I have tried to push forward and live life. Things like coming to our house when it was under construction and falling to my knees crying in the gravel of what use to be my home. Or moving into the Homemental ( The rental home we lived in) and having to pack all our belongings up and leave our home. Flashes of when I would walk until my legs gave out or sitting at home trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with my life after quitting my job. Strange moments like that.

With each memory that would flash throughout the days, I would feel a rope loop around my heart and soul and begin to pull on them. I felt the pain, the emptiness, the feeling of being lost and alone rise back up into me. Horrible feeling. Horrible because I couldn’t understand where it was coming from or why I was feeling this was. Life is good. Things with the boys are good. Things with Bob are good. I am moving forward. I am living again. But it is still there. The ache. The pain. The emptiness. It’s a struggle I go through every March.

So it is my March madness. Another gift of grief. Something I will live with in memory of Pat. I’m okay with that I guess. My past is a part of me. It made me who I am today. Pat is always with me and our love is always surrounding me. That is where all this comes from….our love. Our love together has opened my heart, my eyes, my life to new experiences, new emotions, new love.

Perhaps I should use this isolation, quarantine we are all in at the time as a time to sit with my emotions and thoughts and truly process them like I have never done before. Maybe if I sit with with them for a while I will be able to see they aren’t a punishment or a burden I am stuck with forever, but rather a simple reminder that I am still alive. I am still here. Still breathing, and making it through things I never imagined I would survive for more than a day without Pat. But I am. I am raising these three boys on my own, I am managing the finances, taking care of the household, building a future for all of us and living again. I have love. I have happiness. I didn’t think any of this would come my way after 2015. But it did. I did it. I’m doing it. And maybe, just maybe that is the lesson of my March madness…I’m not really going mad at all. I’m just riding this wave of life and I should remember to embrace the moments that come my way.

Posted in widow

Four and Forty Five

Posted on by Widow with wings

Another year has rolled by. I can’t believe Pat has been gone for four years already. And I can’t believe I somehow arrived at forty five years old. What a journey this has all been. I would have thought by now I would be “good”. That this would be just another day, but nothing ever is the way I think it should be. I miss him. I miss the father he would have been. I miss the possibility of what we would be now. I am not naive though. I know things wouldn’t have been perfect or there wouldn’t have been pain or unhappiness along the way. All my problems are not a result of being a widow. But that doesn’t take away the fact that there is a piece of my life that would have felt a bit more secure. Just having him here to watch tv with or simply feel his presence near me is something I miss more than anything.

Life has moved along for me and I have happiness but I don’t have a day to day partner to share my life with. Not in that way. My kids are my kids. They are my sole responsibility and every decision and every action is put on me. And I worry alone that I am screwing them up. I know if he was here it would have been better for the boys. They wouldn’t be stuck with me just me and my craziness. Pat would have balanced it out.

But that is not my reality and I am beginning to see that I have to let that fantasy in my head, the dreams of what and how I wanted things to be, go. That is my next step in this grieving process. When people said grief was a life long journey they weren’t kidding. It has become easier but still there are days. Four years without him…there have been many many days.

But let’s think of the forty five years I am celebrating today. Those have been good. I look back on all I have done and seen in my life and I feel so amazingly blessed. I was lucky enough to have so many friends who support me. And a family like no other to love me. I found love in an amazing man who gave me the gift of three incredible boys.

And my future looks bright. I have love. I have friends. I have family. A job I enjoy. Students I love to help. There is so much left for me to enjoy. So much for me to learn and see and explore. I look forward to it all.

So four years since I lost my life, my love, all I imagined for my future but forty five years of so much love and happiness.

I can’t wait to see where I go from here.