After 17 Years of Widowhood, Here's What I Know for Sure
Lessons From a Life Rebuilt After Loss
When Jon died, I couldn't imagine what my life would look like seventeen years later.
Honestly, I was just trying to make it through the next day.
The next week.
The next month.
Thinking years into the future felt impossible.
But now, with nearly seventeen years between me and that devastating loss, there are a few things I know for sure.
First, grief changes.
It doesn't disappear.
It doesn't end.
But it changes.
The crushing weight of the early days eventually becomes easier to carry.
The sharp edges soften.
The tears become less frequent.
The love remains.
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The Things That Still Surprise Me About Grief
What 17 Years of Widowhood Has Taught Me
Today it has been 17 years since Jon passed.
Tomorrow would have been our 28th wedding anniversary.
It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at the same time.
I used to think grief would eventually stop surprising me.
I assumed that after enough time had passed, I would know what to expect.
But 17 years later, grief still catches me off guard sometimes.
Not in the overwhelming way it did in the beginning.
But in quieter, more unexpected ways.
The biggest surprise is often how ordinary the moments are.
Sometimes something happens and my first thought is still, "I need to tell Jon about this."
It's usually something small.
A funny story.
A memory that surfaces out of nowhere.
Finding something in his handwriting.
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Why Moving On Isn’t My Goal
Learning to carry grief instead of leaving it behind
One of the phrases I’ve never quite connected with after loss is the idea of “moving on.”
It sounds neat. Clean. Final.
As if grief is something you eventually walk away from, close the door on, and leave behind.
But that has never been my experience. And I truly don’t think that’s how healing works.
After Jon passed away, I remember feeling like I was supposed to reach a point where everything would eventually feel “finished.” Like there would be a day when I would wake up and no longer feel the weight of loss.
But what I’ve learned over time is that grief doesn’t work on a finish line.
It changes.
It softens.
It shifts.
But it doesn’t disappear.
For me, the goal has never been to move on from Jon. The goal has been to move forward with my life while still carrying the reality of his absence.
There is a big difference between those two things.
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Missing Someone Isn’t the Same as Being Stuck in Grief
Why love and loss can coexist long after life moves forward
One of the things people often misunderstand about widowhood is the idea that if you still miss someone, you must not be “moving forward.”
I’ve heard versions of this over the years, sometimes spoken gently and sometimes just implied. The assumption is that healing means the absence of grief. That if you are doing well, functioning, rebuilding life, or even finding joy again, then the missing should disappear too.
But that’s not how grief works.
And it’s not how love works either.
Missing Jon today does not mean I am stuck in the past. It simply means he mattered deeply in my life. There is a difference between being stuck in grief and still carrying love for someone who is no longer here.
For me, grief has changed shape over the years. It is no longer the constant, heavy weight it once was in the early days. I am not living in survival mode anymore. I am not waking up every day trying to figure out how to get through the next hour.
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Do You Ever Stop Being a Widow?
Why widowhood remains part of my story nearly 17 years later
This post is the first in a series called What People Don't Understand About Widowhood, where I'll be sharing some of the realities of grief, healing, faith, and rebuilding life after loss that people often don't see.
One of the questions people don't ask out loud, but often seem to wonder, is this:
At some point, do you stop being a widow?
After all, it's been nearly 17 years since Jon passed away.
My children are grown.
One has graduated from college, and the other is entering his senior year.
I've rebuilt a life I never expected to have.
And I've been happily remarried to Heath for over eight years.
From the outside, it might seem like widowhood belongs in my past.
But the answer is no.
I am still a widow.
And I am also a wife.
Both things are true.
When Jon died, widowhood felt like the only thing I could see. Everything in my life was divided into "before" and "after."
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