When your spouse dies and you magically earn the coveted title of widow or widower, you are catapulted into a deep, dark tunnel. You experience a horror like you never thought would happen to you.

But it did.

When I first became a widow, I vowed I would not let it define my life. I was adamant about it.

I was wrong.

I don’t think there is a way to not let widowhood define your life, because grief saturates every corner of your being. How can that not be life-changing and life-defining?

I’ve held my coveted title for more than five years and I’m here to share some of what I’ve learned. Warning: this isn’t the conventional advice people most often dole out. You won’t get a hint of “It happens for a reason,” or “He (or she) would want you to move on,” from me.

That kind of advice can put itself in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

I hope I can offer something different from the common platitudes so often thrown at us.

Death is just the first loss.

Grief is all-encompassing and life-churning. It affects every aspect of your day. The one-off event of your spouse dying morphs into many more. You lose your identity. Oh sure, your name stays the same but your role in life, the way others see you and the way you see yourself morphs into something you never would have imagined. You may have lived decades as one half of a couple. All that is gone. You must learn to navigate as a single in a couple’s world and reestablish yourself within your new parameters.

Friends and family members will distance themselves — or perhaps it is you doing the distancing. I’m not sure. Some very important people will exit your life completely. Even your best friend (your other best friend) might leave.

But you will meet new people who fill the gaps in your life that were created by the ones who left. The new people in your life will have positive energy and love you truly. You will be filled with gratitude for them.

At first this revolving door of people coming and going will bother you, but then you realize much of it is out of your control. In fact, much of everything is out of your control. This realization will bring you peace because not having control is better than believing you have to control. You have to live this to understand that it is a good thing. It is a lonely walk.

You may have family and friends who want to help, but no one can truly understand how you feel or when you might feel it. You may have a therapist or counselor who helps you sort through your emotions, but you are the only person who can truly get inside your own head. Deep, searing grief sets you apart from the rest of the world. Even others who are grieving a great loss can’t really understand yours, and vice versa. There is strength in understanding this truth because it helps you realize you no longer need to feel responsible for explaining or justifying your grief.

It never ends.

Grief doesn’t go away — not ever. Just like your arm is a part of your body or your nose is a part of your face, grief is now a part of your being — part of your soul.

Realizing this is knowing we can’t go back to what we were but must forge ahead, embracing who we are now. And even more importantly, who we are becoming — one day at a time.

(Stay tuned for part 2.)

— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears occasionally in the Times. She can be reached at

slicescolumn@gmail.com.