After losing my husband to cancer in 2020, I embarked on what felt like an impossible journey—finding purpose in my shattered world. In this final episode, I reflect on the path I've traveled from wife to caregiver to widow to now embracing my whole new life.

The grief journey has been anything but linear. I've fallen countless times but somehow found the strength to rise again. Through raw journal entries, therapy sessions, and painful "firsts," I've documented the rollercoaster of widowhood across 30 episodes—one for each year I spent with John. From the depths of despair in those early days to my November 2022 epiphany when I realized I was no longer searching for my new life but actually living it, this podcast has chronicled every step.

What I never expected was finding love again with someone who truly understands. In late 2023, believing I needed to connect with someone who "got it," I met another widower—also named John—who lost his wife to cancer after 30 years together. The parallels in our stories created an immediate bond of understanding that has blossomed into a relationship where we honor our past loves while building a future together. I'm sharing his story too, as he bravely opens up about caregiving, loneliness, and finding connection after loss.

As I close this chapter of sharing my widow journey, I do so with peace in my heart and gratitude for both the life I had and the one unfolding before me. My hope has always been to help others feel less alone—whether you're walking the widow path or supporting someone who is. Thank you for walking alongside me.

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Can your heart truly find love again after experiencing the shattering pain of losing a spouse? Dale and Annie's story proves it's not only possible—it can happen when you least expect it.

When Annie posted on Facebook asking for help spreading mulch before her daughter's wedding, she never imagined it would lead to finding love again. Dale, also a widow who had lost his wife to cancer, showed up with his wheelbarrow and shovel. Day after day, he returned to help with projects around her property, developing a friendship that slowly blossomed into something deeper.

Their journey wasn't without challenges. Annie struggled with the fear of loving again, knowing the pain of loss all too well. When she confronted her fears about their 15-year age difference and the possibility of future heartbreak, Dale's response changed everything: "How much life are you going to miss in those 20 years when you're avoiding a relationship because you don't want to be hurt?" This perspective transformed Annie's outlook and allowed their relationship to flourish.

Now married for over a year, Dale and Annie share a unique appreciation for every moment together. As Annie beautifully explains, "We understand that every day is truly a gift."

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Memory works in mysterious ways after profound loss. Four years after my husband John died from cancer, I've made a startling discovery about grief that nobody warned me about – sometimes I can't remember whether events in my life happened before or after he passed away.

This realization initially crushed me with guilt. How could something so fundamental become blurry? What does it mean when I have to consciously focus – to be "in the zone" – to place memories correctly on my life's timeline? The evolution of grief has been a journey through distinct phases, each bringing unexpected challenges.

This memory blurring represents both healing and a new kind of loss to process. It's another reminder that grief isn't linear – it transforms in ways we can't anticipate.

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Grief arrives in many forms, and its timing is never what we expect. After losing my husband to cancer in 2020, I discovered that my grieving process had actually begun a year earlier with his diagnosis—a slow unraveling as I watched him slip away while trying to savor every remaining moment. The contrast with my sister-in-law Annie's experience couldn't be more stark: she lost her husband suddenly to a heart attack, performing CPR in their bedroom at 2:30 AM after they had casually said goodnight just hours before.

These parallel journeys through loss reveal profound truths about grief's unpredictable nature. While I had time for difficult conversations and goodbyes, Annie had none—yet both of us faced the same mountain of pain, just from different starting points. I share the raw reality of becoming a caregiver, watching my husband decline day by day, and the crushing weight of finally telling him it was okay to let go. Annie generously reveals her story through a letter describing the night that changed everything, from the ordinary moments of a playoff game and dinner to the surreal experience of hospital hallways and returning home alone.

What emerges from these shared experiences is a roadmap for both those grieving and those supporting someone through loss. I've learned not to judge another's grief journey, to listen more than speak, and to simply do what needs doing without asking. Most importantly, both Annie and I discovered that even with "half a heart missing," it's possible to build a meaningful life again—different, forever marked by loss, but also enriched by deeper appreciation for each day.

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Grief rewrites our entire life story, dividing it into clear chapters—before loss, during caregiving, after death, and the future we must now reimagine. In this deeply moving conversation, I sit with my friend Teri as we explore these four distinct parts of our widowhood journey after losing our husbands to colon cancer.

We begin by reflecting on our previous lives—relationships marked by profound ease and partnership. Teri shares her 30-year love story with Rob, while I recall how my husband John seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

When cancer arrived uninvited, we both made similar choices without realizing it. We refused to let the disease become the center of our households. We didn't Google statistics or dwell on prognoses. Instead, we focused on living each day fully, appreciating mundane moments with newfound intensity. We trusted our medical teams and protected our mental health by staying present rather than spiraling into anxiety about the inevitable.

The most powerful moments emerge as we discuss our current lives as young widows. Teri reveals how her children became her purpose: "I never stopped, and I think I never stopped because of my kids." I share how my healing began with the smallest victories—just brushing my teeth felt like an accomplishment some days. We both acknowledge that grief visits periodically, but we've learned not to let it take permanent residence.

We've discovered the gift of presence—living fully in each moment rather than fixating on five-year plans. When I ask Teri if she ever feels guilty for finding happiness again, her answer resonates deeply: "I do not. Rob would never plant that seed in my head."

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Can you feel genuinely happy after devastating loss? When my husband died in 2020, I couldn't imagine ever experiencing true happiness again. Now, five years later, I've found myself in a surprising place – genuinely happy and yet wrestling with unexpected guilt about that happiness.

"I thought genuine happiness was just a dream," reflecting on my darkest days. "Can I feel happy again? Can I feel joy? Can I be content in my life?" The answer, as I've discovered, is yes – though not without complications. Now sharing my life with another widowed person who truly understands my journey, I've found a new kind of happiness that honors rather than replaces my past.

Fellow widows Maribeth and Michelle join the conversation, sharing their own experiences finding love and joy after loss. Their stories create a tapestry of hope, validating the confusing mix of emotions that accompany happiness after grief. As Maribeth beautifully puts it, "It sometimes seems so confusing to experience both joy and pain and grief all at the same time."

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Four of us share the raw truth about what helped—and hurt—our first year of grief. My sister-in-law Annie, Annie's husband Dale, and my boyfriend John join me for an intimate conversation about navigating widowhood together.

We reveal the profound impact of simple statements like "you do you" and "it's okay not to be okay" that gave us permission to grieve authentically. We recount how friends who simply showed up—bringing food, scheduling visits, sharing memories, or just walking together—created lifelines during our darkest days. Annie's candid admission that she remembers little from her first year of widowhood highlights how differently grief can manifest.

We also discuss the well-intended but painful comments received. From premature suggestions about finding new love to the dreaded "I understand". We acknowledge that these challenges came from good people with kind intentions—the guidance simply arrived at the wrong moment.

What emerges is a powerful lesson about the value of presence over perfect words, listening over advising, and respecting each person's unique grieving journey. As Dale powerfully states, "It doesn't matter what you say, it's that you're there."

StacyRyanAuthor.com

When the future you planned suddenly vanishes, how do you move forward? After losing my husband to cancer in 2020, I faced the incredibly difficult journey of transforming our "we were going to" dreams into a new life of "I get to" opportunities.

This deeply personal episode takes you through the evolution of our marriage conversations—from the light, daily check-ins of our 20s to the profound end-of-life discussions where my husband encouraged me to find purpose without him. I share how our discussions changed through different life stages, and the gutting reality of sitting beside someone you love while they prepare you for a future they won't share.

My grief journey unfolded in distinct phases over four years. 2021 brought the robotic "I have to" survival mode, where simply getting through each day required tremendous effort. In 2022, I cautiously entered an "I guess I could" mindset, tentatively exploring new possibilities. By 2023, I developed the courage to try new things without expectations, which eventually blossomed into my current perspective: "I get to." This transformative mindset has opened doors to talents I never knew I possessed and opportunities I couldn't have imagined during those darkest days.

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Grief transforms over time, especially in how we relate to photographs and memories of those we've lost. Four years after losing my husband John to cancer, I've discovered that reminiscing about our life together has evolved from unbearably painful to genuinely joyful.

During that first year, I couldn't look beyond the heartbreaking final months of John's illness. Every photograph felt like a knife to the heart, yet I compulsively revisited those painful memories. When well-meaning friends assured me "it gets better with time," I couldn't even comprehend what that might mean. Time stood still in my grief.

The second and third years marked a deliberate shift as I worked with my counselor to focus on the 29 wonderful years we shared rather than the painful ending. Though tears still came when sharing stories or viewing photographs, I began experiencing moments of genuine warmth and even laughter alongside the sadness. I was still firmly anchored in my past, holding tightly to those memories as precious treasures.

Now in year four, a remarkable transformation has occurred. I share stories about John with pride and gratitude, introducing new friends to the wonderful man I had the privilege of loving. Photographs that once devastated me now fill my heart with joy. This episode also features conversations with six fellow widows who share their unique approaches to handling memories – from those who find comfort in constant reminiscing to others who still need to look away from certain images even years later.

Whether you're navigating grief yourself or supporting someone who is, this raw exploration offers hope and validation that there's no single "right way" to process memories of those we've lost.

StacyRyanAuthor.com

Four years after grief changed everything, I'm returning for my final season to share the culmination of my healing journey. What does it truly mean to accept a new chapter after devastating loss? 

This episode takes you through my transformation from a grieving widow to someone who's genuinely, authentically happy again. By sharing raw journal entries spanning from June 2020 to April 2024, I reveal the gradual but profound shift from despair to hope, from merely surviving to genuinely thriving —from writing about "balancing being in the moment and being angry at our situation" to eventually declaring "Happy, truly happy."

During my hiatus from podcasting, I channeled my energy into writing and self-publishing a three-book series about my experiences. "46 Days" chronicles the beginning of my healing journey, "140.6 sMILES" explores how my Ironman training prepared me for life's greatest challenges, and "3 Words" details both my cancer journey and my husband John's battle that eventually took his life. These books, like this podcast, aim to help others feel less alone in their struggles.

What I've discovered is that accepting a new chapter isn't just about recognizing growth—it's about embracing responsibility with a "get to" rather than "have to" mindset. It's about finding purpose through vulnerability and connection.  I hope my journey offers both comfort and inspiration. There is life—beautiful, meaningful life—after devastating loss.

StacyRyanAuthor.com