The Day I Earned My Official Widow Card

Six Years Into Widowhood: When Grief Is Still Here—Just Different

Tomorrow, January 16, marks six years since my husband, Todd, died—and the day I earned my Official Widow Card.

I cried today while telling my team at work that tomorrow is that day.
I cried again tonight while making dinner, listening to the Spotify playlist from Todd’s Celebration of Life.

The grief is still here.
It’s just different these days.

Each year as this date approaches, it pulls me right back to that moment in time. I’m sharing this because writing helps me process—but also because I hope it helps other widows know this truth:

You are not alone.

And for those who haven’t experienced this kind of loss yet, I hope it’s a quiet reminder to live a little fuller and love a little deeper—every single day.

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The Day Everything Changed

Imagine…

Being on vacation in Florida with your husband and your 18-year-old sons.

Your husband gets up in the middle of the night, and you hear him rummaging through his travel bag in the bathroom.

You assume he’s looking for Tums—he’s been complaining about heartburn all week.

You hear a strange noise and think he’s throwing up. Maybe food poisoning.

You wait for him to come back to bed.
He doesn’t.

You go looking for him and find him on the couch—unresponsive, not moving, already looking gray.

You scream for your boys to wake up and help you pull him onto the floor so you can try CPR.

You attempt to call 911 while staying in a VRBO, in complete shock.

You watch emergency personnel try to resuscitate him. Shock his heart.

You realize he isn’t going to make it.

You drive to the hospital with your sons, already knowing what they’re about to confirm.

You never get to say goodbye.

You have no idea what to do next.

You’re questioned by law enforcement.

You call your sister-in-law and ask her to go to your house—where Todd’s parents are pet-sitting—and tell them the worst news imaginable.

You leave your husband at the hospital.

You figure out how to get flights home that same day.

You call a close friend and, through sobs, explain that life doesn’t always work out the way you think it will.

You shake for days.

You live in widow fog—yet return to work just over a week later, because the world doesn’t stop even when yours has shattered.

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How Grief Changes Over Time

Each year as this date approaches, I relive that day.

I’m grateful now that it only happens a few times a year. At first, it was every single day. Then every Thursday. That went on for a very long time.

Grief doesn’t disappear with time.
It changes.

And learning how to live with grief—while still allowing room for joy—is one of the hardest things widowhood teaches you.

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When Joy Exists Alongside Grief

My team knows I’m a widow. I didn’t work with them when I earned my Official Widow Card—they’ve only known me over the last year.

I shared with them how widowhood stripped away my self-confidence, and how rebuilding that confidence has been a slow, uneven journey.

When I told them about tomorrow, they reminded me how far I’ve come. They reminded me that sharing my experiences has mattered—to them and to others.

I needed that reminder.

And once again, it brought me back to why Grief & Joy exists.

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A Gentle Invitation

If you’re a widow, a griever, or someone walking beside a person you love through loss—you are welcome here.

Grief & Joy exists to hold space for both heartbreak and healing, honesty and humor, remembering and rebuilding.

If this story resonated with you:

• Explore the Grief & Joy collections

• Follow along for reflections on grief, joy, and everything in between

• Or simply sit with the reminder that you’re not broken—you’re grieving

However you’re showing up today is enough.