I just discovered you and this heartfelt post. As a widower due to my wife’s sudden death ten years ago, I can relate at least a little bit to what you are experiencing. No advice is worth much in the early going, but I can say this with confidence: where you are now is not where you will always be. Every day, painful and hard as they may be, is moving you one step closer to reaching a better state of mind and a better place overall than where you have just been and are today. There is no right timeline. There is only time, and it will slowly but surely bring growth and healing. Be gentle to yourself and don’t hurry the process of recovery.
Now, in the meantime, and at all times, music is medicine. Let it carry you. Music has carried me through the loss of my wife, my career, and my health. It inspired me to start my Substack and music still lifts me up every day. May it do the same for you. You will heal, you will progress, you will dance again.
Waiting is not a time duration that any human can determine. If fate is dropping someone appealing into your life, carpe diem and see where it goes while being mindful of any guardrails and caution signs along the way.
I don't have any advise for you, I am a Widow of 6 years and I will probably never remarry, but I am not raising a child alone. My heart goes out to you, may God lead you to what is best for you.🫂
You may have answered your own question of what is your best approach in your complicated and exciting situation. “Surrendering, trusting, & proceeding with integrity” seems to be
a really calm, ethical approach to your situation. Good luck, and God be with you!
I'm a widower of five year experience now. I'm quite older than you, and at a very different time in my life. However, I have experienced some of the same things you have described. I met a very young widow a couple of years ago. She's raising a 14 year old son and has many family commitments. I helped her celebrate her 35th birthday. I became silly and obsessed, as if I were a young man again. But, I've settled down now, and realized I now have a very nice young friend to communicate with and share experience and clarity with. Here is a poem I wrote for myself a couple of days ago.
I happened upon your writing through a recommendation and was intrigued by your question about how long. I am five years widowed and considerably older than you. I entertained the thought of dating or friendship, but those opportunities did not come, or perhaps I chose not to seek them. Now, I have learned to live life on my own terms and have found a degree of contentment I did not think possible after so much utter despair. The reality is that being married 40 years to the love of my life is hard to set aside.
I give you all this background to then turn the tables on you and your story, and tell you that we are not destined to do life alone. If you have a second chance at a form of happiness on your own terms, test it out, no matter the age or time you have been widowed. In my experience, there is no playbook. No one should have to live mired in grief to pay homage to another. Your late husband would not ask that of you; nor would mine. Test the waters and be honest, on some level, with your kids. I found honesty was the best solution as a parent.
This is clearly hard-earned insight and wisdom, Candy. I’m so sorry for your loss, too. I cannot imagine having to say goodbye to the love of my life of forty years! ❤️🩹❤️🩹🫂
Thank you for sharing your perspective on loss, life, and love. It’s deeply meaningful to me.
Ahhh so beautifully written - you can really sense the strange pulls and tugs from all directions. I enjoyed reading this so much… life and love is so complex
And, Eva, given your difficult paths, I assume your heart found some comfort and your nervous system, some soft co-regulation (or re-regulation) in the generosity and innocence of these early hours with a human, taught through his daughter’s special needs, to be kind, attentive, and giving above all else.
(I beg your forgiveness if I’m being presumptuous or speaking out of turn.)
I did indeed. Something about the way you write makes my heart open and it’s so tender .. and truthful.. and how divine how you have crafted this last line - The surrender is palpable, and I haven’t stopped tumbling. - word poetry xx
One of my best friends passed away at age 52 of pancreatic cancer in 2024. Her widower and her 3 young kids are like family to us of course, so it has been hard. Their oldest has Down Syndrome. It's just a lot. I knew her widower wouldn't want to stay "single." She told him before she passed to move on and find another. Dear God it was unbelievable. I worried about him finding someone willing to get onboard with all that going on. But... low and behold, and much to the chagrin of many friends and family, he started dating about 7 months after my friend's death and is now engaged to be married to just the loveliest most incredible woman, one who has never married and has no kids. She is amazing with the kids. And she's a childhood friend of my late friend! It was all so scandalous it seemed, but never to me. Everyone was clicking their tongues about how it was "too soon" etc., but it's no one else's life. No one has the right to make that call or any call for that matter. Just read your piece and had to share this with you. There is no timeline!
Penny, this feels deeply human because you wrote grief and emerging possibility without pretending they arrive cleanly or on schedule. The tension between disorientation, curiosity, guilt, tenderness, and even humor gives this reflection real honesty. The question beneath it all is larger than romance; it is what it means to feel life stirring again while still carrying loss.
Your writing also holds that fragile middle space many people rarely name: when connection is not certainty, but a quiet reopening. The skate park setting, the children’s presence, the awkwardness, and the inward tumbling all make this feel lived rather than idealized. Even the question, “How long is a widow supposed to wait?” carries more than timing; it touches permission, identity, and whether joy can return without betrayal.
Thank you for writing so openly about grief, tenderness, and the complicated courage it can take to leave even a small door ajar for life to surprise you again.
Penny, this piece felt so deeply human to me because it never rushed toward certainty. It simply stayed present with the tumbling long enough to notice that something inside you was still alive.
That felt important.
What moved me most was not even the possibility of romance itself, but the pause you created around your own experience. You did not immediately condemn what you were feeling. You also did not rush to justify or define it. You stayed curious. Attuned. Honest.
That is rare.
In a world full of visible and invisible expectations, there are so many voices quietly negotiating inside us:
How long is a widow supposed to wait?
What is acceptable?
What would people think?
What role am I supposed to play now?
Some of those voices are spoken aloud.
Others are inherited.
Others are implied so deeply we mistake them for our own thoughts.
Reading this honestly brought Genesis to mind for me. There was God in the garden… but there were also other voices in the garden. Other “gods.” Other competing voices trying to define reality, goodness, safety, shame, and belonging. And I think many of us spend our lives learning to discern which voice we are actually orienting ourselves toward.
What felt beautiful here was that you did not immediately hand yourself over to condemnation, fear, or performance. You paused long enough to listen for something quieter underneath all the noise.
Not:
“This is the way.”
Not:
“This must mean something definitive.”
Not even:
“This is objectively right.”
Just:
“There is life here.”
That moved me deeply.
The image that came to mind while reading was grass growing through cracks in concrete. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet evidence that life has not fully surrendered itself to death.
And I think that is part of why the piece feels so tender. You are not trying to conquer grief here. You are not erasing love for your husband. You are not pretending certainty exists. You are simply noticing that after immense loss, something in you still responds to gentleness, presence, attentiveness, and human warmth.
That matters.
Your line:
“So what if I want good, or at least not entirely bad, sensations raging through me for a change?”
felt less like recklessness and more like someone slowly giving herself permission to remain human.
And honestly, I think there is tremendous grace in the tumbling itself. Because sometimes surrender is not arriving at answers. Sometimes it is simply loosening our grip enough to become curious about what is happening inside us without immediately shaming ourselves for it.
Thank you for writing this with such honesty and tenderness. There is something profoundly alive in it.
“In a world full of visible and invisible expectations, there are so many voices quietly negotiating inside us.”
~ Kevin David Kridner
Kevin, there are so many nuggets of precious metals throughout your response. Your responses always mean so much to me. I’m deeply grateful to you for following my work because you bring me greater insight with each generous response you leave me.
What a gorgeous piece of writing. So happy to have discovered you.
Thank you, Clare. Thank you so much. It’s wonderful to have you here.
I just discovered you and this heartfelt post. As a widower due to my wife’s sudden death ten years ago, I can relate at least a little bit to what you are experiencing. No advice is worth much in the early going, but I can say this with confidence: where you are now is not where you will always be. Every day, painful and hard as they may be, is moving you one step closer to reaching a better state of mind and a better place overall than where you have just been and are today. There is no right timeline. There is only time, and it will slowly but surely bring growth and healing. Be gentle to yourself and don’t hurry the process of recovery.
Now, in the meantime, and at all times, music is medicine. Let it carry you. Music has carried me through the loss of my wife, my career, and my health. It inspired me to start my Substack and music still lifts me up every day. May it do the same for you. You will heal, you will progress, you will dance again.
Blessings, Bob Pomeroy
Waiting is not a time duration that any human can determine. If fate is dropping someone appealing into your life, carpe diem and see where it goes while being mindful of any guardrails and caution signs along the way.
I don't have any advise for you, I am a Widow of 6 years and I will probably never remarry, but I am not raising a child alone. My heart goes out to you, may God lead you to what is best for you.🫂
Oh Kathy,I’m so sorry for your loss. I know God is gently leading us, even (or especially) in these most difficult moments. Bless you.
You may have answered your own question of what is your best approach in your complicated and exciting situation. “Surrendering, trusting, & proceeding with integrity” seems to be
a really calm, ethical approach to your situation. Good luck, and God be with you!
Ah, thank you Jim. It’s so scary and appealing all at the same time. Proceeding into something with integrity can never be wrong, I think.
You are correct! Prayers.
I'm a widower of five year experience now. I'm quite older than you, and at a very different time in my life. However, I have experienced some of the same things you have described. I met a very young widow a couple of years ago. She's raising a 14 year old son and has many family commitments. I helped her celebrate her 35th birthday. I became silly and obsessed, as if I were a young man again. But, I've settled down now, and realized I now have a very nice young friend to communicate with and share experience and clarity with. Here is a poem I wrote for myself a couple of days ago.
"A seasoned widower dating
after a certain age
may be a leash, not a relief.
Living alone after a loss
may be an opportunity for growth.
Dating makes a heart vulnerable,
and puts it in danger of an energy deficit.
You begin to fake happiness
in order to assuage a partner's
desires, while suppressing yours.
Also, dating becomes expensive.
Sharing a bed becomes a challenge.
My house becomes "hers," not mine.
Being alone can become your new happy place
where you can think and plan,
or do absolutely nothing at all.
You sacrifice the freedom
to be who you really are,
while pretending to be
what someone wants to make you over to be.
Living alone does not mean broken!
(Maturity Wins!)
It allows you to have your own life.
Now you can write, enjoy gym time,
enjoy friends that have their own life,
garden in peace, and treasure your "me-time.
When I'm alone,
I prefer to be by myself. "
Oh my. Do I ever relate to many of the words in your poem. Thank you for the gift of your thoughts on paper.
I happened upon your writing through a recommendation and was intrigued by your question about how long. I am five years widowed and considerably older than you. I entertained the thought of dating or friendship, but those opportunities did not come, or perhaps I chose not to seek them. Now, I have learned to live life on my own terms and have found a degree of contentment I did not think possible after so much utter despair. The reality is that being married 40 years to the love of my life is hard to set aside.
I give you all this background to then turn the tables on you and your story, and tell you that we are not destined to do life alone. If you have a second chance at a form of happiness on your own terms, test it out, no matter the age or time you have been widowed. In my experience, there is no playbook. No one should have to live mired in grief to pay homage to another. Your late husband would not ask that of you; nor would mine. Test the waters and be honest, on some level, with your kids. I found honesty was the best solution as a parent.
This is clearly hard-earned insight and wisdom, Candy. I’m so sorry for your loss, too. I cannot imagine having to say goodbye to the love of my life of forty years! ❤️🩹❤️🩹🫂
Thank you for sharing your perspective on loss, life, and love. It’s deeply meaningful to me.
I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you to navigate.
It really is. And it only expands as I go.
Thank you, Emmie, for your kind witness.
Ahhh so beautifully written - you can really sense the strange pulls and tugs from all directions. I enjoyed reading this so much… life and love is so complex
“Life and love is so complex.”
~ Eva Solen
And, Eva, given your difficult paths, I assume your heart found some comfort and your nervous system, some soft co-regulation (or re-regulation) in the generosity and innocence of these early hours with a human, taught through his daughter’s special needs, to be kind, attentive, and giving above all else.
(I beg your forgiveness if I’m being presumptuous or speaking out of turn.)
I did indeed. Something about the way you write makes my heart open and it’s so tender .. and truthful.. and how divine how you have crafted this last line - The surrender is palpable, and I haven’t stopped tumbling. - word poetry xx
Oh so kind.
I’m not sure how long you’ve been healing for now, but I’m honoured to be a part of your journey.
One of my best friends passed away at age 52 of pancreatic cancer in 2024. Her widower and her 3 young kids are like family to us of course, so it has been hard. Their oldest has Down Syndrome. It's just a lot. I knew her widower wouldn't want to stay "single." She told him before she passed to move on and find another. Dear God it was unbelievable. I worried about him finding someone willing to get onboard with all that going on. But... low and behold, and much to the chagrin of many friends and family, he started dating about 7 months after my friend's death and is now engaged to be married to just the loveliest most incredible woman, one who has never married and has no kids. She is amazing with the kids. And she's a childhood friend of my late friend! It was all so scandalous it seemed, but never to me. Everyone was clicking their tongues about how it was "too soon" etc., but it's no one else's life. No one has the right to make that call or any call for that matter. Just read your piece and had to share this with you. There is no timeline!
Penny, this feels deeply human because you wrote grief and emerging possibility without pretending they arrive cleanly or on schedule. The tension between disorientation, curiosity, guilt, tenderness, and even humor gives this reflection real honesty. The question beneath it all is larger than romance; it is what it means to feel life stirring again while still carrying loss.
Your writing also holds that fragile middle space many people rarely name: when connection is not certainty, but a quiet reopening. The skate park setting, the children’s presence, the awkwardness, and the inward tumbling all make this feel lived rather than idealized. Even the question, “How long is a widow supposed to wait?” carries more than timing; it touches permission, identity, and whether joy can return without betrayal.
Thank you for writing so openly about grief, tenderness, and the complicated courage it can take to leave even a small door ajar for life to surprise you again.
Penny, this piece felt so deeply human to me because it never rushed toward certainty. It simply stayed present with the tumbling long enough to notice that something inside you was still alive.
That felt important.
What moved me most was not even the possibility of romance itself, but the pause you created around your own experience. You did not immediately condemn what you were feeling. You also did not rush to justify or define it. You stayed curious. Attuned. Honest.
That is rare.
In a world full of visible and invisible expectations, there are so many voices quietly negotiating inside us:
How long is a widow supposed to wait?
What is acceptable?
What would people think?
What role am I supposed to play now?
Some of those voices are spoken aloud.
Others are inherited.
Others are implied so deeply we mistake them for our own thoughts.
Reading this honestly brought Genesis to mind for me. There was God in the garden… but there were also other voices in the garden. Other “gods.” Other competing voices trying to define reality, goodness, safety, shame, and belonging. And I think many of us spend our lives learning to discern which voice we are actually orienting ourselves toward.
What felt beautiful here was that you did not immediately hand yourself over to condemnation, fear, or performance. You paused long enough to listen for something quieter underneath all the noise.
Not:
“This is the way.”
Not:
“This must mean something definitive.”
Not even:
“This is objectively right.”
Just:
“There is life here.”
That moved me deeply.
The image that came to mind while reading was grass growing through cracks in concrete. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet evidence that life has not fully surrendered itself to death.
And I think that is part of why the piece feels so tender. You are not trying to conquer grief here. You are not erasing love for your husband. You are not pretending certainty exists. You are simply noticing that after immense loss, something in you still responds to gentleness, presence, attentiveness, and human warmth.
That matters.
Your line:
“So what if I want good, or at least not entirely bad, sensations raging through me for a change?”
felt less like recklessness and more like someone slowly giving herself permission to remain human.
And honestly, I think there is tremendous grace in the tumbling itself. Because sometimes surrender is not arriving at answers. Sometimes it is simply loosening our grip enough to become curious about what is happening inside us without immediately shaming ourselves for it.
Thank you for writing this with such honesty and tenderness. There is something profoundly alive in it.
“In a world full of visible and invisible expectations, there are so many voices quietly negotiating inside us.”
~ Kevin David Kridner
Kevin, there are so many nuggets of precious metals throughout your response. Your responses always mean so much to me. I’m deeply grateful to you for following my work because you bring me greater insight with each generous response you leave me.
Thank you so much.