the new normalMy husband has been gone for more than three years. I should be used to living as a widow and existing in my “new normal.” But today I realized, no matter how long I exist without him, I’m not sure this will ever really feel normal.

Sure, my life is on an even keel and I’m doing okay, but this is only year three of living alone in comparison to twenty years living as half of a couple. For twenty years, I was a married woman sharing a life with someone else. For twenty years, I lived with a man I loved and we spent as much time as possible together, enjoying each other’s company. Of course, we weren’t completely joined at the hip. When we met, we were individuals in midlife. He had lots of hobbies and interests, and so did I.

Rick worked on websites, went for bicycle rides, surfed the net, loved to grocery shop (ugh), and enjoyed cooking, as well. He read tons of books – often several a month. I worked as a tech writer and spent my spare time reading, doing genealogy or puzzles, playing cards or games with friends, or meeting old pals once in a while for happy hour – where Rick would come by at the end of the evening to chat with my friends before driving me home.

But for most of those twenty years, our evenings were spent together: dinner or drinks under the gazebo, going to trivia, or enjoying our weekly movie/dinner date night. We spent weekend mornings at the diner and afternoons hanging out or working in our yard. And while we were together, we talked about everything and nothing for hours and hours. The communication never stopped – if we were apart, we texted constantly. Every moment we weren’t involved in our hobbies or interests was spent together. And, of course, we slept together every night, nestled in each others’ arms.

Day after day, night after night, year after year, for more than twenty years, I was happy to share my life with this man. I had my interests and he had his, but the best part was the time we shared together, the part we made into our life, and that was my “normal.”

And then it all ended suddenly, and my so-called new normal began. I still have my old interests, and have added a few new ones, but all that free time after cards, trivia, happy hour, and movies is now spent alone in this quiet house. I’m used to it. After all, it’s been years, and we can all adapt to just about anything. But, perhaps due to the pandemic, perhaps because I’m now more isolated than I’ve ever been, perhaps because I’ve spent the week going through a crisis (several family members have COVID), tonight, my life seems more alone, and this house seems far too quiet. The emptiness is more prominent, and maybe because of that, I realize that this phase of my life – widowhood – has never truly seemed normal, after all.

Last Tuesday night, I sat alone watching the election returns. Sure, I texted and gabbed with several friends, but ever-present in my mind was the fact that Rick wasn’t here with me. Mr. Politics wasn’t offering his opinion on the ups and downs of the events of the evening. And – you guessed it – it just wasn’t normal.

It’s always times that were so significantly “us” that bring the fact home. Holidays, birthdays, other events we traditionally shared together. Times I used to turn to him for support. Times that were special to us… those are the times that remind me that I may have gotten used to life without him, but it still doesn’t feel normal. Maybe after another decade or two, when I’ve spent as much time without him as I did with him, maybe then it will seem normal. Maybe it never will.

The one thing that makes it a little more like the old days is that I still hear his voice in my head. Will that ever stop? Last night, I was trying to reset an Ipad. I followed the instructions I found online… Hold this button, plug this in at the same time, click this, accept that, wait for this, etc. etc. It didn’t work the first time, and I was starting the process all over, when I heard him in my head with the words he used to tease me with during all those years we were together. Any time I was fooling around with something technical, puzzling over something that didn’t work, he would chuckle and say, ”It’s good you’ve got something to fiddle with.”

And I smiled to myself, because I can bring it all back so easily, those normal days. It was good to have him back. It was good to remember the old normal again, when love was always in my life and things were right with the world.


On August 13, 2017, I lost the love of my life. Rick Palmer and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary one month before he died at age 63 of complications from treatments for small cell lung cancer. He was my partner and soulmate, the love I had been looking for and finally found at age 40.

Rick was a talented writer and web designer and, in 2002, we began our own web and print design business. We worked together building the business and enjoyed traveling, writing, and playing together. Our dream was to spend our golden years together doing more of the same, but in the ten months from diagnosis to death, that dream shattered.

After Rick’s death, I quickly realized that the enormity of his loss was too much for me to handle on my own, so I began grief therapy. I also began writing through my grief in a journal of feelings, thoughts, memories, and poetry. As I navigate my new life alone, I share my journey and my efforts towards creating my “new normal” on my personal blog: The Writing Widow. I’m also on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

I recently published two books about my grief journey: my poetry book, I Wanted to Grow Old With You: A Widow's First Year of Grief in Poetry, and compilation of my blog posts A Widow's Words: Grief, Reflection, Prose, and Poetry - The First Year." Both books are available in print and Kindle versions on