Good Grief (Pt 5)
Love after Loss: Allowing your Heart to Expand Again
Today is Valentine’s Day—and another Hallmark day on the calendar. The day of (supposedly) fine dining, flower bouquets, sugary treats, moonlit walks, handholding, and words of love, in a card or otherwise. But equally, it can be a rife with the opposite—sadness, anger, and other inner tumultuousness.
For me, it’s been 2 years since the loss of my partner. Yup, this totally blew me away when I looked at the calendar. Those are the dates I really look it. Even though time is a human construct, it still amazes me that the older I get, the more quickly time seems to move as the days go by. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe time is the constant, and the increased noise and complexities in the world make it seem as if it’s moving faster.
And yet, despite the increasing amount of global noise, there’s another side—a particular kind of quiet that arrives after a spousal loss, even if it’s one month, 2 years, or 10 years. This type of quiet does indeed exist.
I’ve been pondering this for a while now—the house takes on a silence of its own, as does the empty side of the bed. My dogs and cats, however, quickly took care of that prime real estate location, though! But it’s also the way your own private world rearranges itself around absence—routines no longer are routines—they become questions, plans suddenly have no place to land and often evaporate. And in the middle of all that, the idea of love again can feel confusing, tender, even impossible.
For some people, the thought of dating can bring on a wave of guilt. For others, it may spark a longing they didn't expect. And for many, it’s both—sometimes in the same breath.
Grief Doesn’t End When Love Begins
One of the biggest misconceptions about life after loss is the idea that healing follows a straight line: grieve, finish grieving, then start again.
But grief doesn’t work that way. It’s not a chapter you close. It’s more like a landscape you learn to live in—sometimes gentle, sometimes steep, sometimes breathtaking in its sorrow.
There’s a saying that grief is really just love in disguise, with no place to land. I don’t know who originally said that, but it’s true. There’s no beginning to love, just as there is no ending.
You can still miss those who have departed and laugh with someone new.
You can still feel that deep ache inside and feel desire all at the same time.
You can still be faithful to your love story while also being open to creating a new one.
Love does not have limitations. And your heart is not a compartmentalized space that holds limited rooms, like a hotel.
The Guilt Is Real—and It Doesn’t Mean You’re Doing Something Wrong
I’ve spoken to a number of people in a similar situation, and many have described guilt as a shadow that looms forth:
“If I’m happy, does that mean I’m forgetting them?”
“If I’m attracted to someone, is it betrayal?”
“What will people think?”
“What would my spouse want?”
I see it this way—guilt often shows up because the love you had was real. It was deep and full of substance. And it mattered.
Sometimes I think guilt also serves as a protective mechanism—a sign you’re stepping into unfamiliar emotional territory—and that part of you that wants to protect you from hurt and pain kicks in.
Many people have told me over the last several years that I should move on. I vehemently disagree with that statement.
I don’t move on, I move forward. Because by moving forward, I continue to carry love with me, and I never leave it behind.
Love After Loss Does Look Different—and That’s Okay
New love after bereavement isn’t always fireworks. I’m not a gambler, but I’m betting that’s rare. But sometimes it’s gentle, quiet, and sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Sometimes it’s just plain awkward. And sometimes it’s a slow exhale.
Love after loss has many faces:
It can look like friendship.
It can look like companionship without immediate labels.
It can look like dating with boundaries and pauses.
It can look like choosing not to date at all—and building a full life anyway.
There is no “correct” way to love again. But I fully believe that the only requirement to loving again is honesty and a feeling of safety.
Your life can be meaningful whether or not you find another partner. And that’s okay.
Talking About Your Late Partner Isn’t a Problem
As human beings, we are all carriers of cumulative life experiences. My family’s pictures still hang on my wall, and I look at my husband smiling surrounded by all of us, every day. And so I’ve always believed that a good partner won’t ask you to pretend your spouse doesn’t exist, or to take those pictures down or put them away. That’s life. And a mature relationship should recognize and respect those life experiences.
I also believe that the right kind of love will never compete with anyone from the past. Instead, it will respect it. Because everyone has a story, and that story will always include someone important.
A Small Permission Slip
If you need permission—you don’t, but here it is anyway:
You are allowed to love again. But here’s the secret: You never stopped loving anything or anyone. All you’re doing is allowing yourself to expand that love to more people, or even to yourself. That’s it.
The truth of the matter is, your heart is still alive and full, with unlimited space. And your spirit never dies anyway; it, too, remains full and ever-expanding.
There’s no question that grief changes you. But love changes you, too. And sometimes, after you’ve lost the person you thought you’d grow old with, love re-emerges—not as a replacement, but as a new chapter written in a different handwriting.
Not better.
Not the same.
Just real.
Right now, for me, I’m content with the love that surrounds me from my pets, my kids, and grandkids, the winged creatures that arrive and sing on my property, and the beautiful, colourful plants that are popping out of my gardens. For me, that’s love too.
My Valentine’s Day will consist of weeding my garden, pruning my roses, listening to the birds chirp, savouring the quiet with good reading materials, and watching my animals happily savour their treats, and not often graciously, I might add. That’s my kind of love right now. And that’s okay too.
Happy Love day everyone! And thanks for listening!
Beautifully said. I can relate. ❤️