Latest news with #widowhood
Yahoo
07-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I Was Unexpectedly Widowed At 36. I Expected To Grieve, But I Never Expected This.
During the pandemic, my husband Brent bought a used Jon boat to escape the confinement of lockdowns — to find a sense of peace in nature. On July 10, 2020, two hours after he took it out for a test drive, the police showed up at my door. Brent was missing. Two days later, EquuSearch found his body. He had drowned. He left behind two young sons, ages 11 and 3. I was 36 — and suddenly, a widow. In the days after his death, I moved through the world in a daze. The grief was crushing, but it wasn't just that. I began to feel lost and unmoored in a way that surprised and frustrated me. I expected the sorrow. What I didn't expect was the disorientation, the sense that I no longer recognized the world, or myself in it. After all, I had strong friendships, a deeply fulfilling role as a newly appointed assistant professor of social work at the University of Houston-Downtown, and a clear sense of purpose as a researcher. I couldn't understand it — how I could be so surrounded, so rooted in meaning, and still feel like I was disappearing. Later, as I pivoted my research to study young widowhood more deeply, I started to hear the same thing from others: 'I'm lost. I don't know who I am anymore.' From research participants and grief scholars, I've come to understand this as the loss of self-familiarity. We aren't sealed-off individuals, we're co-created through our relationships. So when someone central to you dies, it's not just grief. It's the slow, disorienting unraveling of who you were in their presence. I felt that unraveling most clearly in the smallest moments, like the first time I sat down for dinner without him. Brent used to set a drink beside me every night at dinner. I never had to ask. It was just there — part of the rhythm we had created. Three days after he died, my family urged me to eat. I hadn't touched food in days. I was too terrified, too grief-stricken. I sat down in my usual spot at our breakfast table. My body moved the way it always did: I reached out for the drink that should be there. But there was no drink. Instantly, I realized no one would be thinking of me in that quiet, everyday way anymore. I felt less important. Unseen. That small act — him pouring me a drink — had been a reflection of care, of attention, of mattering. I hadn't even known how much it meant until it was gone. The missing glass of water became the clearest symbol of what I had lost — not just Brent, but the quiet feeling of being cherished. That's when I understood something I hadn't fully realized before: So much of my self-worth had been quietly held in his ordinary acts of care. In that moment, everything I thought I knew about who I was began to unravel. I didn't have the language for it then. I just knew something inside me had shifted. I became unrecognizable to myself. Some books give language to grief's sorrow. Fewer speak to the quiet horror of becoming unfamiliar to yourself. Strangely, I began to recognize pieces of this experience not in grief literature, but in psychological horror films. In one movie, 'The Substance' (2024), a discarded fitness icon takes a black-market serum that splits her into two bodies: her younger self and her deteriorating original form. The younger version starts stealing time, accelerating the original woman's decay. One morning, she wakes to find just one finger aged beyond recognition. Over a short period of time, she watches in helpless terror as her body becomes something monstrous. That jolt of horror — of watching yourself change and not being able to stop it — felt eerily familiar. Because what grief did to me and to other mourners wasn't just emotional. It was embodied. It was cognitive. It was identity-shattering. My body felt different too. My chest felt tight, like an elephant was sitting on it. My joints ached. I was exhausted all the time. I had always loved movement. But after Brent died, it became something else entirely. Certain songs in workout classes would bring me to tears. Physical effort unearthed buried emotion. I'd cry while stretching. During the pandemic, I was grateful for the masks because they gave me privacy to fall apart without having to explain. It wasn't that I couldn't move my body, it was that I couldn't bear what movement was unearthing. My body had become a mirror of what I was trying so hard to survive. I started forgetting things. Losing things. The worst was my keys. I lost them constantly. I'd be late, panicked, digging through bags, retracing my steps. Eventually, I had to get my truck rekeyed. After that, my twin sister Brenda showed up with a pack of Bluetooth trackers. She handed them to me like a care package. 'For the hard days,' she said. She wasn't just talking about the keys. She was acknowledging how grief had hijacked my mind. How I couldn't hold onto anything — not objects, not time, not even a coherent sense of myself. People call it 'grief brain.' And it's real. Your brain is doing invisible labor, trying to reconcile reality, review memories, scan for threat. That takes energy. What's left for daily tasks is minimal. When you begin to lose yourself, you realize you are made of multiple parts. Some are intact — even strengthened — and others are still collapsing. People would see me at work and assume I was fine. My research on young widowhood even began to thrive. I focused intensely. I was productive. In my annual review, I received a comment that my research 'exceeded expectations.' Meanwhile, I was writing things like this in private: 'I dread nights, fearful of the nightmares. I dread the mornings, with their terrible reminder of reality. I dread the days, knowing the desperate yearning for Brent always gives way to horror at how he died.' I was in survival mode — just trying to stay alive. Both were true. At the very same time. Grief doesn't always look like tears. Sometimes it looks like achievement. Like showing up, smiling, getting it done — while falling apart in private. I became a question mark to myself — unanswered, undefined. There was no map. Just blank space where the familiar used to be. And the hardest part? Most people don't see it. You seem 'fine.' You're functioning. So they assume the worst is over. And here is what becoming unfamiliar with yourself does: It makes it incredibly hard to rebuild and heal. People ask you what you need and you have no clue. You don't like what you used to. What used to bring you joy no longer does. And so, you lose trust in yourself. You become alienated from yourself and from others. If you've felt this — if you're feeling it now — I want you to know: You're not crazy. Writing this is my way of saying that you are not alone. It is possible to rebuild, but let's not pretend this is simple. It is complex, layered, and you have to start from scratch in places you thought were solid. Five years later, I'm still finding my way through it. I've begun to catch glimpses of myself again — laughing with my son, feeling grounded in my work, sitting at a table with friends and feeling almost normal. I've also discovered brand new things. I like to dance now. I've fallen in love again. I even earned tenure. It's not a clean return. It's slow. Layered. And still, somehow, holy. I didn't just lose Brent. I lost the version of myself that existed with him. And I've had to grieve her, too — while slowly, unevenly, becoming someone new. Dr. Liza Barros-Lane is a social work professor, researcher and founder of The Young Widowhood Project. Widowed at 36, she combines personal experience with research to better understand what it means to lose a partner too soon. Find her on Instagram and Facebook at @the_widowed_researcher. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@
New York Times
06-06-2025
- General
- New York Times
Carrying My New Husband Across the Threshold
It seemed a romantic beginning, carrying my new husband across the threshold of our apartment for the first time since getting married. In reality, paramedics carried Harry, his frail frame strapped into an emergency chair. I trailed behind them on four flights of our walk-up, holding his oxygen tank, its plastic tubing connecting us that April afternoon. It would be among the last times I saw my husband alive. In the space of a month, I was engaged, married and widowed to Harry, who had been my friend and roommate for nearly 25 years. Just as surreal, our wedding took place at Lincoln Hospital in the Bronx the day before, on Easter Sunday 2022. Harry, whose birth name was Wing-Ho Chow, my reluctant husband who wanted to keep our marriage secret, had just exercised spousal privilege, releasing himself into my care despite knowing I was flying back that day to Purdue University where I was teaching and pursuing a Ph.D. The months before his death were exhausting as I traveled every few days between Indiana and New York. Hospital weddings may be a common trope in movies and TV, but they are exceedingly rare. Only one nurse on Harry's floor could recall witnessing one. Such is their rarity that the head nurse told me that the hospital wanted to issue a news release about our nuptials, something Harry adamantly refused. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Globe and Mail
05-06-2025
- General
- Globe and Mail
Financial lessons from a woman whose husband died suddenly at 39
If you can't find the time or motivation to plan financially for your death or a serious illness, please read Jane Blaufus's book. It's called With the Stroke of a Pen: Claim Your Life, and it includes a 33-page checklist of questions for working through the process of helping family members sort through your affairs when you die. The checklist is helpful, but so is Ms. Blaufus's personal experience after the loss of her husband. To hear more, check out this e-mail Q&A I did with Ms. Blaufus: Q: Jane, can you tell us in both a personal and professional sense how you came to write your book? A: My 39-year-old husband walked out the door one Sunday morning, and that afternoon a police officer arrived in my driveway to share the news that he had been killed in an accident. In less than 60 seconds, the world I knew had been turned upside down and I had become a widow with a 12-year-old daughter and a financial tsunami coming my way. By that time, I had been in the life insurance industry for 16 years and had foolishly thought that if anything ever happened to me that I would be better prepared than others. Wrong. I was blindsided by so many unexpected things and thought that if I wasn't prepared, despite all of my knowledge and expertise, what would the average person do in that situation? Fast forward to today and I am happily remarried to a wonderful man who was also widowed after his wife suffered an illness. We collectively decided to pay it forward by sharing our story to help prevent other families from going through what we did. Q: In the conversations you've had with readers, friends, family and clients in your professional life, what have you learned about the capacity people have for preparing for their own death and the death of loved ones? Do we ever get to a point where nine in 10 people have a will, powers of attorney and made other preparations? A: Unfortunately, most people are terrified to talk about death and illness. For many it is like looking their own mortality in the face, but these conversations are crucial because we have an obligation to ourselves and those we love to leave this world in an organized manner. The last thing someone needs when a loved one has become ill or died is to be running around trying to find all the pertinent documents needed to make decisions about medical care or funeral arrangements. Sadly, I do not think we will ever get to the point where nine in ten people will have had these important conversations. Q: If you were to list some of the top things to do to make sure your loved ones are prepared in case of your death, what would they be? A: To start, make sure your loved ones know what your final wishes are. I had asked my husband four times what he would want if anything happened to him and he would always change the subject. When he died, I had to plan a funeral as if I had been blindfolded; it was horrible. Next, make sure you have a current, up-to-date will and powers of attorney for both medical and financial matters. You would not believe the number of times I have heard stories about couples divorcing and the ex-spouse gets everything because the will was never changed. Also, make sure you have enough life insurance for today. Do not stick your policy in a drawer, as things have a way of changing over time. Also, if you have a special needs member of the family, make sure you have provided for them to be cared for in the future. Please make sure all of the beneficiary designations are correct and current as well. And, make sure you have assembled all of your important documentation into one central location, and make sure everyone who should know where it is, does. Your loved ones and your executor should be able to quickly and easily access this information. Speaking of executors, make sure you have asked your executor and legal guardians for your underage children if they willingly accept the role and associated responsibilities. Do not simply assume they will, because if they decline to accept the role after you are gone, you cannot make changes from the grave. Q: What do you think about bringing your adult children into the discussion of what happens when you die? How old should kids be for this conversation? A: This is a very important question, and I believe it is critical to bring them into the discussion, especially today, where there are so many blended families. Having them involved in the conversation can mitigate so many issues that have the potential to erupt after someone dies. As for your question about how old they should be, I would leave this in the parents' hands to determine the age, as they will know their child's maturity level better than anyone else. However, at the latest, I personally would bring them in when they reach adulthood. My poor daughter has had more of these conversations than I think she would care for! Q: Looking back on your own experience when your husband died, what types of advance planning had you done and how did they help in the aftermath? A: The year before my husband died, we had met with our financial advisor to review our investments and life insurance policies. We actually purchased more insurance as things had changed from our last review. The life insurance my husband lovingly put in place for us became a financial lifeline that helped me as I tried to get back on my feet and return to work. We also reviewed our wills with our lawyer, which made settling his estate much easier for me. Q: I've seen some apps and software over the years that were designed to help people organize themselves for when they die, but none seems to have taken off. Do you think the right app could help people engage more with this type of planning, and do you know any apps people should check out? A: I personally do not think an app would engage more people and I do not have a go-to suggestion to offer. What I have done in my book is provide my readers with a checklist designed to help get the conversations going with the people you need to be having them with. It serves as a workbook to help people get their personal and financial lives in order while they can. Are you reading this newsletter on the web or did someone forward the e-mail version to you? If so, you can sign up for Carrick on Money here. Dollarama vs. Costco A nine-product price comparison, including staples like tomato sauce and paper towels. Would you buy a Canadian car? How feasible would it be to tap into Buy Canada sentiment by launching an actual Canadian car company? Foreign companies assemble vehicles in this country, but there are no Canadian automakers. Fixing the problem of too much stuff Advice on de-cluttering from YouTube's The Minimal Mom. The emphasis is on making your living space more comfortable, not throwing a lot of stuff out. Life with the Cybertruck An amusing take on what it's like to drive the Tesla Cybertruck, which starts around $120,000 in Canada. A recent report from J.D. Power shows that in the segment of people who say they are likely to consider an electric vehicle for their next purchase, Tesla has dropped to eighth place after four years among the top two. Subscribe to Stress Test on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Ask Rob Q: What should the investing approach for seniors be for stocks versus guaranteed income certificates? One, both, neither? A: Both can work well. Stocks for long-term growth and dividend income, GICs to supplement bonds as a source of interest income and stability when stocks decline. An all-stocks approach is too risky for most seniors, while all GICs means a sacrifice of growth for safety. The 5 per cent GIC yields of a few years ago far exceed today's peak rates of 3.5 to 3.95 per cent. Tools and guides This new retirement planning calculator was created by a team including Ben Felix, a portfolio manager who has done a lot of great educational work. In the social sphere Social Media: A LinkedIn discussion about a column I wrote recently about a proposal to tax real estate investment properties. Watch: Toronto's spring housing market: Dead on arrival Money-Free Zone: The band Wye Oak strips down the Kate Bush song Running Up That Hill to the basics, and makes it work. Here's the great, more ornate original version. More PF from The Globe - They downsized to save money and simplify their lives. Here's what they wished they'd known - For travel-loving Canadians, other financial goals take a back seat to vacation spending - When did tipping diverge from a reward for good service to a wage-subsidization tactic?
News24
05-06-2025
- Entertainment
- News24
Babes Wodumo reflects on musical comeback and Mampintsha - ‘I miss his jokes'
She is a young mother and widow navigating life in the wake of her husband Mampintsha's tragic passing. Despite her circumstances, she is eagerly anticipating her musical comeback and aims to perform on stages throughout KwaZulu-Natal. Bongekile Simelane famously known as Babes Wodumo has been a household name in South Africa since her rise to fame in 2016 through her hit song 'Wololo,' the song's success propelled her into the limelight, and she soon became a fixture on South Africa's music scene, particularly the gqom genre. Her rise to fame was meteoric, thanks in part to her late husband, Mandla Maphumulo a.k.a Mampintsha, who played a pivotal role in shaping her career. Babes co-founded 'West Ink Records' alongside Mampintsha and they made hit songs that have since cemented her in the South African music industry. Babes then later started her own independent record label, 'Wena Wodumo Entertainment.' However, on December 24, 2022, Babes lost her husband Mampintsha, and in the aftermath of her loss, she found solace in her child, family and craft. Through her reality TV show, 'Wena Wodumo,' fans have been given a front row seat as she navigates the complexities of widowhood and single motherhood. Read more | Prince Kaybee opens up about amnesia struggle Babes Wodumo says that she is in great space in her life and career and she's grateful for those that relate to the woman she has become. 'I'd describe my head space as good because I'm occupied with work, so I'm grateful. And my favourite highlight of this season of my life was having one of my fans at a gig coming to me, telling me that she's also going through the same thing as me, she's also grieving her husband and after watching my show her mindset changed. For me that spoke volumes,' she said. Being a young mom is teaching her that one never stops learning. 'Motherhood is great in the sense that you don't know what you're doing but somehow you naturally do it. And now I'm teaching my baby manners and as he grows into this big boy who has internalised everything I've instilled in him, and puts into practice all the values and principles, I'm amazed. It has made me realise the true meaning of the Zulu saying 'Ufunda uze ufe empilweni,' (you learn till you die) because even I get to learn some things from him as his mother.' Read more | ICYMI: Dr Nandipha Magudumana is taking her fight for freedom to the Constitutional Court Babes says work never comes before her son. On gloomy days Sponge is her motivation. 'My son is very bubbly; he's always laughing and very direct, if he doesn't like something he has no filter, he'll tell it as is, and you have no choice but to learn from that. However, balancing work and parenthood isn't easy, but I try by all means to make it work, my family and my child are my biggest motivations, so I do it for them, which is why I don't take Sunday gigs as Sundays are for bonding with my family,' she added. She also revealed that there's projects she's currently busy with and that fans must stay tuned. 'There are collaborations currently underway, and this year in November I'm doing my big homecoming show in Lamontville then next year in May, I'll be doing my one woman show in Durban, so my fans should stay tuned for date announcements.' Babes shared fondest memories of her late husband, Mampintsha, how she keeps his memory alive and what she does to prioritise her self-care in challenging times. 'I miss his jokes, his voice and almost everything, I just miss it all. And I'm making sure his memory stays alive through our son, I make sure my son is as bubbly and as full of life as his father was, Mampintsha was full of jokes and always focused and that's what I've instilled in our boy. And whenever I stumble across challenges, I revert back to the bible for my soul as it's my self-care.' View this post on Instagram A post shared by Bongekile Simelane (@babes_wodumo)
BBC News
02-06-2025
- General
- BBC News
'Our honeymoon money paid for my husband's funeral'
Two young widows who lost their husbands to heart conditions have launched a podcast about their Burr, 31, from Banbury, Oxfordshire, and Gabby Evans, 32, from Burnley, have previously campaigned to lower the age of NHS health Burr, whose husband died six months after their wedding, said the weekly podcast would deal with "raw emotions and real lives".She told the first episode: "I literally had to spend the money me and Ed had earmarked for a honeymoon on his funeral." Her husband fell ill on the day after their wedding in April 2024 and was diagnosed shortly afterwards with dilated cardiomyopathy, which inhibits blood died in October at the age of 32 while waiting for a heart Evans' partner Tom Brakewell, who was 34, died suddenly at home in January 2025 with an undiagnosed heart widows, who have never met in person, previously joined forces to launch an online petition to lower the age - currently 40 - at which the NHS starts to invite patients for full health screening. Mrs Burr said: "I fully believe if health checks were mandatory and Edward had gone for a health MOT between 25 and 30 his heart issue would have been flagged and he would still be here."The pair released The Podcast That Shouldn't Exist on the first episode, Mrs Burr told how she walked down the aisle at the wedding and the funeral to the same music, from her husband's favourite film series Lord Of The Evans described her fantasy that her partner would leap up and "jump scare" her at the chapel of rest. The pair said the podcast was "a space we never asked to create about a club no-one wants to join".In response to the widows' campaign, the Department of Health and Social Care said: "Our deepest sympathies are with the families of Edward and Tom."The NHS's life-saving health checks are targeted towards those at higher risk, preventing around 500 heart attacks and strokes every year and stopping people developing a range of diseases."To increase availability and uptake of the checks, we are developing a new online service that eligible people can use at home to understand their risk of cardiovascular disease and diabetes." You can follow BBC Oxfordshire on Facebook, X (Twitter), or Instagram.
