Reflections of a 10-Year Widow

I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since my Steve passed away. It’s sad how time has marched on, yet his image remains frozen in my mind from that time. Sometimes, I try to imagine how he would look now at 65. Since we’d be empty nesters, would we have finally bought that condo in the city? Would we be thinking about retirement? Where would that be? Ten years have gone by in the blink of an eye.

That is, until I remember back to those early days. Our girls were 9, 12 and 15. The oldest was just entering high school, which is not easy on a good day, let alone while grieving and having everyone know your personal story. Those days were incredibly challenging. There was so much that was new, terrifying and overwhelming. I had not worked in an office for 12 years, and suddenly, I was back at work, and not to a small job, but needing and wanting to keep the business my husband founded alive and well. I had no idea how to run a business, but I learned quickly. I had to. 

I was scared about money. Would we have enough to send the girls to college? I worried about making big parenting decisions alone. Were they the right ones? I was concerned that I would always feel broken and never whole again. Would my heart always ache for Steve? When would I start to laugh and smile again? Would intense stress be a part of my new daily life? Would I ever sleep again?

There was so much fear back then. I had it; my kids had it; my extended family had it. Could I actually do this solo parenting thing? The answer was and still is a resounding “Heck yes!!” Do I wish I didn’t have to? Absolutely. Do I wish that none of this ever happened and our lives would have just carried on like “normal”? Yes, I do. However, those were not the cards we were dealt.

So often, I am asked, “How did you do it?” My answer is always that failure was not an option. I didn’t think about that. Okay, maybe I did 2% of the time—I am human, after all, and there were plenty of opportunities for it all to go south fast. But I just kept fighting my way forward. 

There were certainly days when it felt like a boxing match. I would knock one problem down, only to have 2-3 more coming right at me. I took one obstacle at a time and just kept swinging. Yes, I was exhausted, and there were days I felt winded and needed a break. So I took one.  

My daughters and I operate on the principle that there are no problems that we can’t solve together. As long as we remain united, we can figure it out. There have been some pretty big ones over the years, but we have worked our way through them.

I am planning a special surprise for my daughters in honor of their father to mark this passage of time. We will all be together with Steve’s family and will carve out time to share some of our favorite memories of Steve.

I don’t want to spill the beans on the surprise here, since this blog comes out one week before I plan on sharing it with them, but I will share about it on social media afterward. Make sure you are following me on Instagram and Facebook.  

For those of you who are early in your grief, I want to share 10 things that I have learned since Steve passed away. I hope that when you read these reflections, if you are struggling in certain areas of your life, they may give you hope. Hope is one thing that can get us through the darkest of times.

Hold tight to family values. They are your guidepost. Family values have been my anchor during the storm of grief. They’ve kept me grounded and given me direction when everything else felt chaotic. Staying true to what’s important to me has helped me find my way through the hardest times. Prior to Steve’s dying, we had talked about our family values, but we never wrote them down or shared them with our kids. Our values are now written down and shared. There was a time when one of my daughters was not living up to our family values, and we had a very frank conversation about that. 

I am smarter and more resourceful than I thought. After Steve’s passing, I discovered strengths I didn’t know I had. Every day brought new challenges that required creativity and quick thinking, and I realized I was more capable than I ever imagined. This journey revealed an inner strength and resourcefulness that have been crucial for my healing.

I can do hard, big things and take risks. Losing Steve was the toughest thing I’ve ever faced, but it also showed me that I can handle big challenges. From running our business to raising our daughters alone, I learned that I’m capable of taking on huge responsibilities and risks. This newfound courage has opened up new opportunities and adventures. Early on in my grief, everything was new. It all felt risky and hard. Buying a car, hiring someone to renovate our home and sharing my grief journey publicly were all risky, and I am glad that I took the leap.

It is possible to laugh, smile and have fun. Grief doesn’t mean the end of joy. I found that it’s possible to find moments of happiness and laughter again. Whether through cherished memories, new experiences or time spent with loved ones, I learned that joy can coexist with grief, bringing light to the darkest days. 

My heart has room to share my life with another man one day. While Steve will always have a special place in my heart, I’ve come to understand that love can expand. There’s room in my heart for new connections and relationships. This realization has given me hope for the future and the possibility of loving deeply again. I know that finding the right partner will not be easy. I am not looking for someone to “replace” him or be a father to my daughters. I am looking for someone that I can spend this next chapter of my life with. 

I am clear on how I want to spend my time and with whom. Losing Steve made me reassess my priorities. I became more intentional about how I spend my time and with whom I share it. This clarity has allowed me to focus on what truly matters, surrounding myself with people and activities that bring joy and fulfillment. I think we all realize that life is short. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. Do what matters.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. Grief puts things into perspective. Many of the trivial worries that once consumed me now seem insignificant. I’ve learned to let go of the small stuff and focus on what’s truly important, which has brought a greater sense of peace and contentment. I was a very Type A control freak kind of person. Everything had to be just so. I gave that up many years ago. If my yard has weeds, that is okay; if we don’t have a homemade meal every night, that is okay; if I brought my young kids to the Daiquiri Deck for dinner because I had not made other arrangements, also okay. My sanity and inner peace are more important. 

“Me time” is so important. I didn’t take care of myself early on in my grief. My physical and mental health suffered. I changed that. Self-care became essential in my healing journey. Taking time for myself, whether through hobbies, relaxation or simply being alone, has been vital for my emotional well-being. Prioritizing “me time” has helped me recharge and maintain my strength for the challenges of everyday life. Sometimes my daughters will want to have a conversation, but they know I need my quiet time too.  They recognize that and honor that.  

It is okay to say no. Grieving can be overwhelming, and I learned that it’s okay to set boundaries and say no. Whether it’s declining social invitations or stepping back from commitments, I realized that prioritizing my needs is crucial. Saying no has allowed me to conserve my energy and focus on my healing. I never used to say no. If someone asked me to do something, the answer was always an automatic yes. I was a superwoman. I don’t need to be a superwoman any longer. That is exhausting and does not fill my cup.

Don’t give in to fear. Fear is a natural response to loss, but I’ve learned not to let it control my life. By facing my fears and taking bold steps forward, I’ve discovered a newfound sense of bravery. This courage has helped me rebuild my life and embrace the future with hope and optimism. Here are some of the things that I have done that I never would have done before Steve died: ran a business, sold a business, started a new business, stood up for myself, spoke on a stage in front of 1,200 people and took a solo trip to Turkey.

I am incredibly proud of the person that I am today. It has taken blood, sweat and tears to get here, but the work and all that I have learned along the way were worth it. David Kessler developed the sixth stage of grief, which is “Finding Meaning”, and I have found that. I wish Steve was here to see all that my daughters and I have become, but I know in my heart that he is watching and is also incredibly proud. We did good, Steve. ❤️

As a parting thought, I want to leave you with these wise words from my favorite book of poetry as a child, Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein: 

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”

Even in the darkest of days and times, there is hope. If you have to put on your boxing gloves and fight your way through, do it. You still have a life to live. Your late partner would want you to live and live fully. I know you can do hard things. I believe in you.