First, I want to say that I love my late husband. This post takes nothing away from that love that I continue to have for him…6.5 years after his death.

Last week, as I listened to National Public Radio’s “Fresh Air”, there was a segment featuring award-winning journalist, author and widow Claire Tomalin. As she talked about her life and her new book, “A Life of My Own”, she pulled back the curtain on a tiny part of widowhood that is seldom addressed.

She discussed the freedom and independence that came with purchasing a car following the death of her husband. There was no discussion. No late-night chats to see which car was the best option. She simply decided she wanted a new car and bought it. End of story.

Her confession struck a chord with me. There are times, despite the aching I have in my heart for my late spouse, where I enjoy my newfound independence…where I relish marching to my own drum beat.

I was barely 23 when I met the man who would eventually become my husband. Somewhere along the line, I lost myself in his dreams. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that my voice was drowned out or that I wasn’t respected; it was more that he was the big dreamer and he created a plan that involved us both working together. There was a place for me in his picture and it was a spot I was happy to fill. His dream eventually became our dream.

When he died, our dream no longer worked. The vision we created needed both of us – alive.

I had no idea who or what I wanted to be in this world. Everything I’d planned for the future involved us both. I was lost.

Widowhood can be a double-edged sword. It’s where you lose yourself and ultimately find yourself in the process.

Sometime after his death, I went from being tormented that I had no one to bounce an idea off, to feeling confident with my decisions. I no longer had to coordinate my schedule, be mindful of a partner’s eating preferences or anything else for that matter. I was an army of one and found solace in the fact that he was silently cheering as I tapped into the strength I’m sure he always knew I possessed.

Again, for those in the back: I love my husband. I will always love my husband. I wish this had not been the ending to our story. My appreciation of my independence pales in comparison to my sorrow and heartbreak.

My husband was spontaneous and seemed to be in constant motion. Since his death, I’ve grown to love the stability and calmness of my life. I enjoy the stillness and the predictability. I’ve learned that being still doesn’t mean I’m not making progress. It simply means I am establishing my roots.

I poured my heart and soul into making our goals and dreams a success. With his death, I’ve learned to slow down. I had to catch my breath. In fact, it was desperately needed in order for me to survive.

In slowing down, I had to let go of the guilt I carried for not pushing through to make our goal a reality. But I had to realize our goal was simply that…ours; it was not my own.

Whether you want to go back to school, move, travel or open a business, don’t for a second hesitate because your passion was reignited as a result of your loss. It’s okay to deviate from a goal you set with your husband if you find it no longer serves who you are post-loss. It’s unfortunate that our newfound attitudes, successes, independence, drive, etc., came as a result of a spouse’s death. It’s too bad that we don’t get to have all of this and have them here with us. But remember, you’ve earned the right to live life on your own terms, and unapologetically. I know the heavy price you paid. I paid it too.

Mom to a feisty preschooler, Kerry runs a support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a contributor to Open to Hope. Her articles on widowhood and grief have been featured in HuffPost and she was recently featured in the Moments of Clarity podcast. 

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