Grief: from the perspective of a widower’s partner

Dear Avery,

Grief is not an area I expected to deal with at this stage of my life. The death of a person or the death of an idea for your life (from the words of my therapist) seemed years away until it came in various forms. If you had told me at 25 years old that I’d be getting a divorce in a few years and then remarrying a widower – I would not have believed any of that. But here we are, in the beautiful chaos of emotions that brought forth an even brighter life.

Most perspectives we hear come from the widower (rightfully so), but rarely do we listen to what it’s like to be the partner of the widow/widower. The person who is there not only to help pick up the pieces but also to acknowledge that the pieces will always be there. Grief is also present in the widower’s partner – we are just experiencing it differently. So, it’s important to hold space for that partner, too, as they navigate the path themselves.

At the beginning of our relationship, I didn’t know how to feel or express unnamed emotions. Therapy helped me a lot here. My therapist helped me draw boundaries for myself as we both navigated the way forward. A great example that will always stay with me is when Troy visits his wife’s grave on her birthday and the day of her death. At the beginning of our relationship, he felt it was important for me to come with him, as support for him, but for me to acknowledge the reality of her passing too. He has a beautiful ritual of buying flowers at the same place and listening to music that reminds him of her. The music was hard for me to hear.

Listening to love songs about another person felt like I was competing with a ghost.

My therapist gave me the advice to tell him how I felt about the music, and to not get in the way of his process, so to make a suggestion of “we can drive separate”. This was a boundary to say, “do what you need to for you, and I’ll do what I need to do for me”.

Visiting the grave site at first came with a lot of emotions – as it should. Guilt and sadness and feeling like I was intruding or encroaching. But over time, it turned into a “thank you”. My message for her now is, “Thank you for loving him as you did and for helping him turn into the man he is today.” It’s honoring the part she played in his life. Our kids come now too. When they are old enough to understand that Mom and Dad had prior lives, they’ll learn more about how we came to be.

Other hard parts of this role come into play with family and friends. How do you not feel like you are the replacement? Well, I did feel like that at the beginning. I felt like I was perceived as such, but I quickly realized that coming from my own self-talk. The people in his life were gracious, kind, and understandably cautious. They asked how I was doing, too. They cared, but they didn’t pry. That must have been hard for them, too. The only thing that heals this feeling of replacement is TIME. Time really can heal if you let it. It doesn’t erase, but it does heal. Now, when asked how I’m feeling or navigating when his wife gets brought up in conversations (which still happens)… I can confidently say,

“I’m not the replacement; I’m the addition.”

I’ve added to his life, not replaced. It’s a mind shift to acknowledge that adding to someone’s life means that there was something there before. A person. A loving woman who loved this man fiercely and who this man would continue to love. In this instance, I learned I had to take my ego out of that mindset of it being about me. He still loves her and will continue to. And while that can be complex, it’s completely valid. I honestly believe he loves me unconditionally because of the love that he has to give. His grief has turned into something greater than himself.

I do believe, now, that widowers hold heavier water than the rest of us. They have all this unexpressed love to pour into new things and people. Therefore, they can love deeper and harder. They know what is at stake. And those willing to take another shot at love after losing it in a way that was out of their control are pretty remarkable to me.

So, the perspective of a widower’s partner is layered. I still feel like I see her face in a crowd sometimes. I still feel sad for her friends and family that miss her. I still feel like I can’t always comment when she comes up in conversation. I wasn’t there during the college days and the inside jokes, and that’s OK. Time and communication have helped heal the unmasked feelings. Validation from my partner helps too.

Grief is a part of our story. It’s a part of our family. I believe it makes us wiser, more empathic, and a little more aware of the beautiful emotions that will continue to flood in.

With love,

Aunt Megs

For a more detailed version of this, go ahead and listen to the ThirtyFiveSixtyFour podcast where I’m interviewed: https://open.spotify.com/episode/2OAYjfbBu3RK4mykz9Tdhj?si=e25352d4304e4e18