The Grief of Going From ‘We’ to ‘I’

How I’m surviving the first months of widowhood while dealing with the business side of death

Janie Emaus,

AARP

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Published March 18, 2026

a woman sits alone in a bed, looking at a charm bracelet. on the bedside table is a photo of her with her husband.

Monica Garwood

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When my husband passed away, my world shifted on its axis. For 47 years I was one half of a “we.” We’re serving dinner at 6 p.m. Come see our new puppy. We’d love to attend your wedding.

Even once my husband was unable to go places with me due to his illness, I was still one half of a marriage. At his passing, “we” became “I.”

During those first few days after his death, it was hard to accept that I was no longer his caregiver. I would glance at my phone, checking on how much time I had before I was needed back at our house. The realization that he was no longer waiting for me in his hospital bed was like a weight on my chest.

Yet at the same time, I felt a sense of relief. Caring for him had become difficult and painful. No one likes to see their loved one suffer.

After a whirlwind few days with family and friends, I was left with the business side of death. I became a member of the “spousal survivorship” club. Many businesses, from banks to storage units, have a bereavement department set up to assist the surviving spouse. It sounds as if it should be easy. But it’s not. It’s time-consuming, often confusing and emotionally turbulent.

But I plunged headfirst into the tasks at hand. And in doing so, I learned things about my husband that I’d never known, and rediscovered parts of our life that I had forgotten.

First and foremost, I dealt with the financial issues. When I finally retrieved the password to our stock portfolio — and don’t get me started on my regret at not having our passwords and usernames better organized — I was blown away by how much money he had saved, thanks to what he called his “Dutch” spending habits. Throughout our marriage, some of our biggest money arguments involved our daughter. I bought items she wanted, such as designer clothes, trendy shoes, a new car. He insisted we only give her what she needed.

My husband owned a graphic arts business. No surprise that he collected dozens of art books as well as ones on how to run a successful business. The shock came when photos fell from between the pages of those books: school portraits, family camping trips. Through the years I had kept photo albums and scrapbooks, but finding these photos reminded me of how he used to save things that had special meaning to him.

There were also dozens of photos of him with his soldier buddies standing in front of large tanks. Their smiles told me they had no idea that Agent Orange was hard at work altering their futures.

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My husband never talked much about that war. I realize now that the experience made him endure the last few years of his life without complaint.

Whether he admitted it or not, my husband was quite the romantic, and he charmed me from the day we met. While on business trips, he always brought home thoughtful gifts. For our ninth anniversary, he surprised me with a trip to Hawaii. He planned everything in advance, from scheduling my vacation from work to enlisting my parents as babysitters.

While I knew that, I had no idea he had also been writing love poems and song lyrics. Reading a song about his best friend, who’d passed away years ago, reconnected me to the days I’d spent hours listening to them play their guitars and sing together. It brought on a tsunami of sadness. I pressed my husband’s journal to my heart, whispering things I should have said before he passed away. I always thought there’d be more time.

Our safety deposit box revealed the biggest secret of all. There was nothing like a hidden villa in Italy or a second family living across town. No, it was a box full of rare coins, jewelry — and memories. As I opened the lid, the healthy, happy man I had married decades ago materialized before me. I could picture his long, lean fingers placing my charm bracelet in the box, and arranging his coins in small containers.

Finally, at the bottom of the box, I found my emerald ring, the one my husband had set aside to repair. At that moment, what I needed repaired most was my heart.

Going through his personal belongings reminded me of the life we used to share. That it wasn’t always urinals, bed pads and pills. That there was dancing, laughter and music. Those are the times I want to remember.

Once I’m completely finished with the “spousal survivorship” business, which seems like it might take forever, I’m going to do more than simply survive. I’m going to live my life with gusto and joy, the way we always lived before he became ill.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.

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Janie Emaus is the author of the blended holiday picture books Latkes for Santa Claus, a finalist in the 2022 International Book Awards, and Easter Eggs & Matzo Balls. Her third picture book, Mrs. Claus’s Noodle Kugel, will be released in 2026. She is also the author of the novels The Advice Columnist and The Time Traveling Matchmaker. Her essays, stories and articles have been published in numerous magazines, anthologies and websites. To learn more about Emaus, visit her at janieemaus.com.