Widow Thrive, League City, TX (2026)

09/03/2026

Six years later… what I wish I had stopped feeling guilty about.

Grief comes with guilt nobody really prepares you for.

And six years after losing my husband, I can see how much energy I spent feeling guilty for things that never required an apology.

I wish I had stopped feeling guilty about…

Feeling happiness again.

Laughing until my stomach hurt.

Having a good day and realizing I hadn’t thought about grief every single minute of it.

Going somewhere and actually enjoying myself.

Wanting a future when the future I had planned was gone.

Falling in love again.

Letting someone new care for me without believing it somehow diminished the love I had for my husband.

Changing.

Building a different life.

Wanting more than simply surviving.

And maybe one of the biggest ones…

I wish I had stopped feeling guilty for not grieving the way other people thought I should.

There is no loyalty in staying miserable.

There is no greater love in refusing to heal.

And moving forward does not mean the person you lost mattered any less.

I know that now.

Brian will always be part of my story.

Twenty-seven years of marriage doesn’t disappear because I found reasons to smile again.

His death changed me.

But it didn’t have to be the end of me.

For a long time, I think part of me believed that if I became too happy, too hopeful, too successful, or built too beautiful of a life afterward, somehow I was leaving him behind.

Six years later, I understand it differently.

I didn’t leave him behind.

I carried the love with me.

Into a new relationship.
Into becoming a grandmother.
Into my faith.
Into my business.
Into the ones I now encourage.
Into every version of me that came after the woman who thought her life was over.

So if you’re newly grieving and guilt keeps showing up every time you experience a tiny glimpse of life again…

Please don’t confuse healing with forgetting.

You are allowed to laugh.
You are allowed to love.
You are allowed to dream.
You are allowed to change.
You are allowed to build something beautiful.

And you don’t have to feel guilty for being alive enough to live it. 🩷

Credit: Grief Support for Loss of Spouse

07/15/2026

So many people judge widowers who decide to date, and maybe even remarry, as callous or selfish—as if it is some big betrayal to their late spouse if they move forward in their life and open up their hearts to love again. Loving again is not betrayal!
This excerpt from Justin and Kelly is spot on.
💞💞💞

“I could never love anyone like I loved my late spouse."

I've heard that so many times.

Can I say something that might upset a few people?

You're right.

You never will.

And you're not supposed to.

Stop measuring every future relationship against a marriage that had years to grow. Stop expecting someone new to compete with a lifetime of memories. That's an impossible standard, and it's unfair to everyone involved.

Loving again isn't betrayal.

It's not forgetting.

It's not "moving on."

It's moving forward.

The love I had for my late spouse will always belong to that chapter of my life. Nothing can erase it.

But God never asked me to build a monument to my grief. He asked me to trust Him with my future.

If He chooses to write another love story, it won't be the same.

It will be different.

And different doesn't mean less.

Sometimes God's greatest acts of restoration don't replace what was lost. They prove He can bring beauty into a life that once believed it would never smile again.

Credit: Pastor Justin and Kelly

07/06/2026

Grief is such a devastating experience, one that will shatter the perspective of your world.

It will dismember your physical wholeness.

It will tear you down in front of everyone but in such invisible ways.

But above all, it will alter your inner world completely.

So much so that it will take you from the grounds of your life and put you up on the roof of your house.

That’s where you get to live from that point forward.
You grew. You changed.

Your grief made you unlike yourself in ways that you couldn’t have foreseen.

When we meet each other, those of us who have been through it, we recognize our places on the roofs.

We nod. We understand.

We are a different kind of species.

And why we must change our lives to match that.

Not just in the first few years but in all the years we have left.

For me it will be 20 years in just a few days (July 21st) and let me tell you, no matter how long it has been, grief’s signature is still visible on my skin and it dictates change.

Lots of it.

What can you see from your roof?

Stay profound.

Credit: Second Firsts - Christina Rasmussen

06/30/2026

I could have written this post…
On point and so very true…
Comment below if you have experienced the harsh judgments of others in your widow journey. —Bobbi

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

I am a remarried widow.

Being a remarried widow who has experienced the loss of a spouse to su***de introduces an entirely different dimension to widowhood that, unless you’ve lived it, you will never fully comprehend.

Over the past seven years, people have shared their opinions and judgments about my marriage and my children. In case you need a reminder of what it means to judge a life you have not lived, I’ll leave this thought for you: You may not have endured what I’ve been through with the same compassion, grace, and strength that I have. While I may make it look easy, the journey has been anything but simple. I have risen above challenges without secretly or publicly tearing anyone down. There are no hidden stories about me belittling, bullying, or hating others.

My choices concerning my children are not subject to discussion, judgment, or personal opinions. I brought these kids into this world, nurtured them every day, and all my actions are rooted in love and a commitment to their protection. I owe no one an explanation for my decisions, particularly not to those who have not experienced motherhood in the same way I have. “Well, I would have…” With all due respect, please take a seat.

I have chosen the high road. I have embraced love, service to others, and joy because my kids are watching. I am deeply committed to ensuring they never witness me tearing anyone down or harshly judging lives that I have not experienced. I have not needed to lie, betray, or diminish anyone to reach where I am today. After a decade of hard work, I have achieved my current position without throwing anyone under the bus to make myself appear better or more impressive.

If you haven’t yet had to lay your spouse to rest, your opinions and judgments hold no weight. If you haven’t navigated the challenges of raising grieving children, please take a seat. If you haven’t had to rebuild a family while grappling with depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress, and overwhelming grief? Please, step off my trail and take another.

As a 46-year-old woman, I choose my own journey. If you attempt to silence me regarding the loss of my spouse, all I can say is, “Wow.” Would you dare say that publicly? Would you stand on a stage and voice that to my face or to a gathering of widows?

I am where I am today thanks to my own resilience, my wonderful husband, who has supported me through a multitude of challenges and joys over the past seven years, and the love of a higher power that requires no further explanation. I will persist on my path, regardless of anyone who attempts to derail me.

I recognize that I fully represent my character, and my moral compass is strong because I made the conscious choice to be this person. If this is difficult for you to comprehend or if you laugh ....perhaps it’s time for you to take a long, hard look at what you are hiding and where your own moral compass is pointing.

Credit: Nikki Bonkoski

***dewidow

06/25/2026

To my fellow widows
the ones still figuring out
how to answer the question:
“How are you?”

God, I wish I had a clean answer for that.

Some days I want to say “I’m fine” because it’s easy.
Palatable.

Sometimes I say “I’m good” because it lands softer and makes them more comfortable.
But let’s be real…

Neither of those words cover what the hell this is.

Because if you actually looked me in the eyes when you asked, you’d see the truth.
That I’m here.
Still standing.
Still breathing.
But also still grieving.

You’d see that some days I’m doing surprisingly well- I laugh, I build, I dream, I love.
And other days, I feel like I’m dragging my broken heart behind me through wet cement.

So how do you answer something like that?
How do you sum up the rollercoaster of widowhood in three words?

Here’s what I’ve learned:
You don’t owe anyone a polished answer.
You don’t have to make it tidy for their comfort.
And you sure as hell don’t need to fake the “strong widow” mask 24/7.

You’re allowed to say:
“I’m surviving.”
“Today’s a heavy one.”
“I laughed this morning. I cried by lunch. I’m still here.”

Because you get to define what healing looks like for you.

Some people might pity us.
Others won’t know what to say.
But the ones who really love us?
They’ll meet us where we are.

So to the widow reading this who doesn’t know how to answer that question today

You don’t have to.
Just be.
And keep going.

8/12/25

Credit: Jessica Ellerman

***dewidow

05/06/2026

I once thought healing meant leaving pain behind—that with enough time, the weight of loss, heartbreak, or disappointment would lift, and I’d feel whole again. But time has shown me something different. Some wounds don’t vanish. They shift, they soften, but they remain—etched into the fabric of who I am, not as burdens but as quiet reminders of love, of depth, of all I have lived through.

I no longer wait for the day when every ache disappears to allow myself joy. I have learned that happiness and hurt can coexist, intertwining in ways I never expected. There are moments when laughter spills from my lips even as my heart carries the weight of absence. There are days when I feel both gratitude and grief in the same breath, neither one canceling out the other.

Moving forward does not mean forgetting. Healing does not mean erasing. I am not broken because I still feel the sting of what I have lost. I am whole because I have allowed myself to feel it all—because I have learned to hold sorrow in one hand and hope in the other, allowing them to shape me rather than define me.

Life isn’t about getting over everything; it’s about making space for both the light and the shadows, knowing that even the deepest wounds can exist alongside joy. And in that space—in the in-between of remembering and becoming—I continue to grow.

Credit: Aimee Suyko - In Their Footsteps

***dewidow

05/04/2026

When Dan died suddenly, I couldn't bear to call myself a widow. The title was painful and conjured up the typical stereotypes our culture paints. It felt like I was suddenly sidelined, alone, and forgotten.

But then I began searching what God says about widows and turns out He says a lot! Scripture helped me see that widow wasn't a bad word and how much God loves the widow.

On this , I'm sharing 5 powerful truths for the widow.

1. God has a heart for the widow. Psalm 68:5 says God is the Defender (champion/protector/advocate) of widows.

2. God cares for the widow. In the Old Testament, God's law specifically provided for widows and in the New Testament, God instructs churches to provide for widows in need.

3. God has compassion for the widow. One of the last things Jesus did from the cross was to look out for his widowed mother. He charged the disciple John to care for her.

4. God has purpose for the widow. A widow may have lost her husband but she has not lost her purpose. All through Scripture, God used widows to reveal His character and accomplish His purpose.

5. God has hope for the widow. First Timothy 5:5 says the widow in need "puts her hope in God" and asks Him for help.

Widow is a title no one wants. But it's not a bad word.

On this National Widows Day, take comfort that God sees you, cares for you, and has compassion, purpose, and hope for you.

Credit Lisa Appello

***dewidow

04/27/2026

One of the very first things I realized when I experienced my own grief was how big it was.

How enormous it felt against me.

How heavy it was to carry.

How it operated outside time.

How human ways of experiencing everyday life were not enough.

I had to unearth the ground I was walking on.

I had to find a way to interact with the world around me without falling apart.

I had to relearn everything.

Breathing. Eating. Heart beating.

All of it was difficult.

Grief can feel like a disease at first.

It physically pains you to be alive.

So if you are in the early throes of grief, and you somehow found your way to this post, your only to do today is to breathe and eat something nourishing.

The rest will happen when the time is right.
With love on a Monday morning,

Credit: Second Firsts

***dewidow

01/26/2026

This was written by an “anonymous participant” in a grief group posting. I feel led to share it and hate that I cannot give this widower the proper credit by using his name due to his anonymity. This post speaks to the male perspective of the loss of a spouse and speaks such truth about the trauma our minds and bodies endure - true PTSD and navigating such complex trauma. It also speaks to the annoying platitudes people offer and the loss of friendships—all of which I deeply and profoundly understand and speak about to the widows I work with through Widow’s Wish.
*******

“A year ago yesterday- life was awesome. We were happy, we were leaving for Mexico the next weekend. We had hundreds of plans for the years ahead and so much hope.
A year ago today- she was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. She faced her death with grace, intentionality, kindness, and incandescent courage.
6 months ago- she died at the age of 49.
She is the love of my life. We were partners in everything. We always had each other’s back. We were together for 28 years and were absolutely crazy about each other.
No one can understand this grief apart from those who are experiencing it. People just don’t have the ability to imagine this kind of emotional, spiritual, psychological, and physical pain and crisis.
My wife walked towards her death determined to live until she died. She did. My wife walked though her life determined to radiate kindness and as she faced her death that determination only intensified.
I’m determined to walk through this grief the same way. I am trying to grieve well.
I see all of these posts from those who are just experiencing this loss. I’m six months into this and this is what I’ve learned and what I’ve done.
- people say well meaning but utterly stupid things to people who are grieving. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” “ time heals all wounds” “everything happens for a reason”. I have chosen to forgive the words and only hear “I love you”.
- Grief is its own thing. There is nothing like it. The loss you are experiencing is the most traumatic event that a person can experience. That’s not an opinion. That is the psychological and neurological consensus.
- you are experiencing extreme stress. This stress has structural effects on you body and brain. All of the things you are experiencing, memory impairment, brain fog, horrible memories stuck on a loop, extreme anxiety, fatigue. This is all, sadly, normal. Your brain is trying to survive at the expense of your emotional well being. You are not going crazy. You are in crisis. These changes aren’t permanent. It takes time and effort but you can get through this, even though it seems unimaginable now.
- I immediately went into grief counseling. It fixes nothing, but talking to a person who didn’t know my wife is really helpful. My family and her family and our friends, they are all experiencing grief. Their grief heightens mine. A counselor is only focused on me.
- I have a small circle of friends who are willing to listen. Again, most of these people didn’t know my wife or they have such high emotional IQs that their compassion overcomes their need to express their own grief. I also have a few people who have lost a spouse and are much further along in their journey. They can identify with me and give me realistic expectations.
- I immediately joined a gym. I work out and take yoga classes. I am not flexible at all and yoga is painful but the point is to breath through pain so it’s a good practice.
- anniversaries and holidays just suck. I try not to let them. My wife died on the 25th at 12:51pm. Even if I was completely unaware of what day it is(which happens often) I know that the day is approaching. I take the day off of work.
- I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t want to either but it’s really painful and then I just can’t take anymore. I listen to podcasts on a topic I am interested in that has nothing to do with anything related to grief or love or anything like that.
- I got rid of all alcohol in the house. I immediately surrendered all of my wife’s medication to hospice. The temptation to obliterate my mind to get a break is too strong. The temptation to follow her is too strong. I haven’t had a drink. But every few weeks I buy non alcoholic beer and pretend I am drowning my sorrows.
- I get together with people once or twice a week. I ask them to not ask how I’m doing and we only talk about movies and music and work and trivial things.
- I have another few people who I ask to tell me about their problems. Talking through another persons problems helps me to feel like I still have a purpose.
- I have allowed myself to cry in public. This happens whether I like it or not. I just accepted it and stopped apologizing.
- I hate crying. I physically hate it. It happens all the time multiple times a day. I have cried three times typing this.
- I have leaned into stoic philosophy. Specifically this tenant: Control your perceptions, Direct your actions properly, Willing to accept what is outside your control.
- I have a friend who is willing to hear my dark thoughts. They accept them and hear me.
- I talk to my wife all of the time. I have no expectation that she hears me. I hope she doesn’t. My faith tells me that she is beyond all of this and is in a place where she is occupied with purposeful work. She is outside of time and she will turn her head and I will be there and no time has passed. I talk to her though. Mostly it’s to tell her that I miss her.
- missing and yearning is unimaginably painful. People talk about anger and grief. Not my experience. However, the frustration of being away from her is overwhelming. The only thing that can fix my condition is impossible. So I have to live with this missing. This yearning/ pain gets more intense the further away I get from our last moments together.
- I took care of her throughout her illness and through her coma. Hospice helped just with the last day…I think. Those days are a blur. I had to do things and see things that are hard. Seeing and hearing her die was awful. I was actively praying for her to die and be released. I had to force myself not to scream as it happened. A part of me was utterly shocked when she died. All of these thought and feelings simultaneously. I cared for her body after she passed. I cleaned her and prepared her for the mortuary. The hospice nurse helped. My girl deserved to be clean and cared for. I played music for her and honored her. There was a beauty to her passing. She died with a smile. I did my best to honor her. This process also broke me. I could not get those images and sounds out of my mind. They pummeled me on a loop. I couldn’t remember her any other way. The cancer ravaged her. I had to work hard to reclaim the image of her healthy. I created a slide show for her celebration of life. One of the most difficult processes I’ve ever been through. It helped me remember her as she was. That loop still happens though.
- grief is undistinguishable from PTSD from a neurological perspective. Hard, intrusive memories and images looping over and over is normal. I created a mantra that I say when those memories hit me, “she is not in that moment anymore. She is free. You are the one stuck. You don’t have to be.”
- I have a psychiatrist. Grief is not depression. Medicine is not going to cure anything. However (in my experience) it can help to cope with the stress and anxiety. My mind doesn’t work the same way it did before my love was diagnosed and it works differently now that she is gone. This is not my fault. This is not weakness. This is one more way for me to adaptively cope. 6 months in and I still have these earthquakes of grief. They can last for hours. They are almost like panic attacks but not really. There is no need for me to suffer them if I can’t calm on my own. I have to work. I have to take care of my kids. I have to function.
- I try to be kind to myself. This is difficult. My mind is unkind to me. I wish I was the one who had died. I believe that my family, my children, the world would be better if I had had died and my wife had lived. My wife disagreed. She told me that she was getting the better deal. She didn’t want to be in the position I am in. The only solace I can take in this is that she didn’t have to suffer what I am suffering. So I try to be kind to myself. She was always kind to me. She would be angry with me berating myself. It’s difficult though. Survivors guilt is a thing.
- I allow others to be kind to me, but on my terms. This was a process. Some people have been extraordinarily kind. Those people have asked me how they can help but not just ask “let me know if there’s anything I can do” it was a conversation about what they can do. I had to be open to that conversation and then honest with them. Those people are now the small circle I rely on for support. Some people have tried to insert themselves into this situation with what they think they should do and some have inserted themselves because there are just some people who want to be near pain. I needed to set clear boundaries. It was awkward as hell, but it was necessary.
-No one knows what you need. Even amongst those who are grieving, there’s a whole spectrum of experiences. Everything I’ve written, is just about me. Maybe this whole post was self-indulgent. I hope someone reads this and can take comfort in knowing that they aren’t the only ones feeling this or whatever. I am only six months into this. I am a mess internally. My wife’s and my dreams and hopes shattered in the course of a day. The last year has been a state of constant upset, dread, and then grief. I haven’t even gotten to the mourning bit yet. I haven’t collapsed though. I did everything I could. I left no thing unsaid. I left no arrow in my quiver. We loved each other fearlessly, and that is forever and ever. People have told me that I am lucky, because there are people who never know this kind of love. I accept that. I believe that. I don’t really want to hear that. I had true love and now I am alone. That is like trying to live off the memory of air.
Your pain is real. There are no words to soothe it. There is no way around it, only through it.”

—anonymous

Widow Thrive

09/03/2026

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