What does it take to move forward after losing a spouse? Three widows reveal their experiences of healing and finding love anew. Photo / Getty Images
How easy is it to start a relationship after being bereaved? Three widows tell Sinead Corcoran Dye their stories.
Janelle Brunton-Rennie, 41, public relations director
My husband Kurt and I had met through friends a few times and started working out together at the gym before our relationship blossomed into something more.
After a few weeks of training together we both realised there was more to our friendship and we went out on an unofficial date, and he then never left my house.
In the seven years we were together we spent very few nights apart, we always were happiest in each other’s company. We were best friends and each other’s greatest support person.
We had been married for four years when he died of a very aggressive, diffuse large B-cell lymphoma, a type of blood cancer. He was 41 and our daughter was 1.
Dating again as a widow was an immensely challenging experience.
It was hugely polarising, a constant dichotomy or state of painful duality. I was immensely lonely, now a single mum to a little girl, running a company and a home by myself, so I couldn’t get out much.
I was also in immense shock. I was highly traumatised by what had unfolded and what I’d witnessed and, in all honesty, I should not have considered dating for at least two or three years after Kurt passed.
But this is where the polarising aspect comes in, the loneliness, the desperate need to just feel something, anything other than pain and suffering and to try and distract yourself from it.
Dubbed “the widowhood effect”, studies on partner loss give statistics like you’re 70% more likely to pass away yourself in the first year after losing your partner because of the physical toll that kind of loss takes on the body.
I was in so much pain, I couldn’t really eat for at least a year, I didn’t really see anything in colour. Each day I would wake up, realise it wasn’t a nightmare, it was now my reality, and I had to just try and survive the day as best as possible and be the best mum I could be.
When I tried to start dating, I felt like being a widow was intimidating. I think that if I was perhaps divorced, it would have been easier for men to understand that my husband and I had separated as we weren’t a good match, there were no unresolved feelings and I was naturally moving on.
But being a widow meant I still loved my husband and that we were in a beautiful loving marriage when it ended, and that can feel uncomfortable for men I dated.
I chose to interact with people who were not really available (e.g. didn’t live in the same city) but I could just message them.
It helped with the loneliness but it meant I didn’t really have to see anyone often or commit to anything.
The thing is, when your spouse dies, you don’t automatically feel single. In fact, the use of that word was offensive at the deepest level.
I felt like I was still married and, if I’m honest, right up until I started dating my partner Max and our relationship started to feel safe again, I was still married but my husband was dead.
I wasn’t single, nor was I emotionally available – and I had immense guilt and shame at even trying to move forward.
I have been with Max for over a year now. We have been very good friends for 15 years and have both witnessed and supported each other through some challenging times.
The first year of our relationship brought some big challenges but we have managed to work through them together, have a closer bond and have become amazing communicators as a result.
We have also been consciously blending our families. My daughter Sage is now 6, Max has two beautiful little girls who are 6 and 3 and our girls are now very close.
It has required us both to release ideas of how the future was “meant to” look, as well as what our traditional definitions of family were.
Instead, we allow ourselves to create something really beautiful, supportive and loving on our terms. And we’re both so incredibly proud of how we’ve navigated that process, always putting our children’s needs at the very centre of it.
One of the most important things when trying to move on after losing your partner is having compassion for yourself and the enormity of what you have been through.
Losing someone changes you profoundly, the loss never goes away, and life slowly builds around it.
I’m at a point now where some of the secondary losses that occur when you lose your partner can be revised, such as planning a future with somebody again, discussing what retirement looks like together and even whether we choose to have more children or not. And there is a lot of healing in that.
The other thing is patience. What I found challenging, and I wasn’t aware of, was that I expected my relationship, after only a few months, to be as loving, strong, committed and supportive as my marriage was after seven years – which is unreasonable.
We have to allow ourselves to build again, to go through the initial uncertainties and challenges that a new relationship brings. Those things can be very triggering as they potentially bring up a lot of grief again.
Re-partnering and building a life with someone special, and navigating some challenges together, resurfaced a lot of grief and abandonment wounds. I hadn’t been prepared for that, and it was very painful and confronting.
So be patient with yourself and give yourself grace. You’re doing your best and it’s brave to try and love again and dare to dream again after navigating such heartache.
Penny*, 60, sales manager
I met my partner 34 years ago, in 1990. We had been together eight years when he died from bowel cancer that hadn’t been discovered until it was in his liver and lungs and was terminal. He was 38.
Yes, we went through all the usual challenges that couples go through when they have young children but we’d always had a lovely relationship.
I felt ready to date again after he died, but initially it did feel difficult. I ended up dating online – and was very upfront and honest about being a widow and that I didn’t want more children. The men were always incredibly respectful and appreciative of my honesty.
I dated a handful of people – one for four months – until I met my husband. We were together for eight years too but we ended up getting divorced.
Being single after my divorce was really refreshing and I didn’t expect to find someone after that. I was happy in myself and had accepted the space I was in. I had a great life and amazing friends.
I then met my current husband, and we’ve been together for five years and married for one. He is my soulmate; I’ve never been happier.
My advice to other widows is to remember that grief doesn’t start then finish. It comes and goes. And even when you move on and find another partner or love, there will still be days of grief and overwhelming tears and loss. It doesn’t make you love your new partner less – it’s part of the journey of loss.
The older I get, the more accepting I have become about myself.
When I was younger and was a new widow, I was so scared to admit I was grieving and in pain. I was angry all the time and wanted people to help me and feel the pain with me. But everyone is living their lives and that’s important for them to do.
Grief is something that is so unknown and hits you at the most unexpected times. I became a grandmother a year ago and I felt so happy and sad all at the same time, as my daughter’s father would never see his amazing grandchild.
It was devastating – and yet I was also so happy at that time and I got to share it with my new husband, who accepted that I was grieving and happy all at once.
There is no right or wrong way of grieving, or moving forward, but don’t rush. Don’t push yourself or try to expect too much from yourself.
Women are amazing creatures, who take care of their friends. They’re there for each other when they’re in pain, they let them cry and don’t tell them it will be all right. Because they know that, while down the line it will be, right at that moment they’re letting go of something that’s inside them.
Don’t be afraid to let them share that with you because it’s a huge privilege and, for those who are in pain, share – even when you don’t want to.
Tom*, 58, engineer
My wife got sick when our youngest child was still in primary school. She was sick for a long time before she died – nearly 10 years. And while I never imagined dating again – particularly so soon after – I had always preferred being in a relationship than being on my own, especially after she died and our two eldest children had grown up and left home.
After she died, I spent a lot of time with a female friend. We had always got along well and became even closer after my wife died. She kept me company – and distracted me with dinners out and weekends away. I could tell she had developed feelings for me but it felt too soon for me to pursue anything romantic. Also, I couldn’t work out if I really did have feelings for her or if I just desperately wanted to have a partner again.
Things ended up petering out but just a couple of months later, at our local pub, I was introduced to another woman through our mutual friend.
She was the complete opposite of my wife in every way. When it came to my wife’s priorities, family always came first and she loved nothing more than her role as a stay-at-home mum and homemaker. She worshipped the ground I walked on, was utterly adoring. She also loved hosting parties at our place, every birthday celebrated with a big party for family and friends.
This new woman was completely different. Very introverted, proudly self-sufficient and independent, and career-driven. But she also wanted children, and soon.
Our relationship moved incredibly quickly. Within six months she had moved in, we were engaged and expecting a baby – my fourth.
I was in my early 50s, never expecting to become a father again, but I knew it was non-negotiable by this point. And I also knew it’s what my wife would have wanted.
She knew I always wanted a really big family and told me that, after she died, she wanted me to move on as quickly as possible so that I wouldn’t be on my own.
While our youngest daughter didn’t seem to mind that there was a new woman in our life, my eldest daughters really struggled, especially when my new partner moved in, redecorated our home and took down all of their mother’s touches.
They felt it was disrespectful to her memory and that they were still grieving – but they also said they were glad I had her, so they didn’t have to worry so much about me being on my own.
If I hadn’t met my new partner in “real life”, I know I never would have tried out dating apps. I’m not very good at writing and know I wouldn’t have been very good at putting myself out there over message – so I’m thankful to pubs and mutual friends.
It’s been six years now since she came into our lives and we’ve now got three children together – so I have six in total, with more than 20 years between my eldest and youngest.
This isn’t where I thought I’d be – mid-50s with three under 6 and a partner who works, who will never be content just being at home with them. But I know life doesn’t always end up how you thought it would.
I miss my first wife all the time. But I also love my “new” wife. I guess both can be true, all the time. And that having moved on doesn’t mean I don’t still love her. I love my wife but sometimes I do miss the parties, the homemade meals painstakingly cooked with love.
I love my three youngest children, of course, but sometimes I do fantasise about the future I thought I’d have: an empty nester with time to golf on weekends, to read a book – not spend weekends running around after little ones at the playground. I’m getting older and it’s getting harder, but I am happy. It’s just all so different to before.
* Names have been changed
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