How long does grief last?

I’m grieving today. . . 

I thought I’d get through this quickly; after all, I’d been grieving for years. But that grief was tangled with everything else that came with being a caregiver: worry, stress, resentment, fear, sadness, and loneliness.

Now all that remains is sadness. Loneliness. Anger at myself for not being a better wife. Regret that we never got to enjoy the retirement we imagined.

When my thoughts return to him, they go back to our early years of marriage, when life felt expansive—our travels, our closeness, his gentle care for me, and my joy in taking care of him: cooking his favorite foods, making a home he was proud of.

I remember the long drives across the country, stopping at small diners, searching for out-of-the-way bookstores where I could buy children’s books from ages past. He would drive and drive while I sat back and watched the scenery. That was our favorite thing—to enjoy the countryside, share simple meals, and talk.

This ending was not what I wanted. I wanted a happily-ever-after. I wanted us to grow old together and pass away peacefully after a long, shared life. That was not to be.

Instead, I am left with fragments of a marriage that was once good, and later heartbreaking.

Slowly, the hard years are fading, and I am grateful. They are not worth holding onto. We had so many good years—just not enough. . . 

A Closing Note

I’ve decided to bring this blog to a close following the passing of my husband, Bill. This chapter has been a long and meaningful journey, and while grief continues, the caregiving chapter itself has ended.

I’m deeply grateful to everyone who has read along, shared their stories, or found comfort here. I’m going to leave this blog up, in case something written here helps someone else walking the caregiving path. I may occasionally refer back to it in future writing.

I do want to keep writing—but about new seasons, new ideas, and life moving forward. From here, I’ll be writing on Substack, and eventually on a new website focused on The Single-Serving Life.

Thank you for being here, and for being part of this chapter of my life.

— Cindy

The Single-Serving Life

Simple ideas for enjoying life on your own.

Final Resting Place

On December 15, 2025, my children and I laid Bill to rest. We gathered for a simple military service at the Houston Veterans Memorial, where his urn now rests in the memorial wall. There was comfort in the simplicity, and gratitude for a moment of stillness after a long journey.

Posting just for the beautiful memories . . .

I love flowers. They brighten my day, lift my spirits, and give me that peaceful feeling of walking in nature. During my bereavement, I was gifted these beautiful bouquets. I'm posting them here simply to remember how they made my days a little brighter. 

The Delay in Survivor Benefits—and Why It Matters

I’m writing this to encourage future widows and widowers of modest means, like myself, to prepare ahead for the financial realities that follow the death of a spouse. Even if you and your partner currently have similar incomes, losing just one household check creates a sudden shift in lifestyle.

In our case, we had two Social Security checks; his was larger than mine. He also had two pensions. As his widow, I’ll receive his Social Security instead of my own (because mine was smaller) and a portion of his pensions. On paper, that may not sound too alarming. But here’s the part I didn’t fully understand until it happened: the transition is not immediate.

Within days of his death, all of his income stopped. Every penny. Gone.

The only money coming into my account was my small Social Security check. Yes, I will eventually receive his benefits and pensions, but “eventually” is the key word. As the surviving spouse, I am the one who has to file every form, make every phone call, and then wait while agencies “make a decision.” Phone call wait times range from a few minutes to a few hours. Appointment availability runs from weeks to months. And once everything is finally submitted, you may still wait 30–60 days for the new payments to begin. Back pay will come, but you still have to live in the meantime.

And the surprises didn't stop there. In the process of handling these transitions, I contacted our auto/home insurance company. Because the policy was in his name, I was required to apply for my own. My premium is now $100 more per month — even though nothing about my driving or living conditions changed! I even lost the safe-driver discount I earned because technically it was credited under his policy, not mine. Just like that, the $200 discount vanished.

Fortunately, my medical insurance was not affected, but that may not be true for everyone. It’s worth verifying before you’re forced to navigate a similar scenario.

Thankfully, over the past few years, I intentionally restructured our finances so we were not living on our full household income; and I built a savings cushion for “someday,” not knowing how soon that day would arrive. It required real trade-offs: moving to less expensive housing, giving up certain comforts, and living within a budget. The effort made all the difference. Without it, this transition would have been far more difficult.

I’m sharing this because many of us don't realize there can be a delay in receiving survivor benefits. For those living paycheck to paycheck, that gap can be especially difficult. And for anyone who has never tested life on one income, now is the time to see what that would look like. Build an emergency fund if you can. Practice living on one-income. Your future self will thank you.

And while you’re tending to financial things, please consider meeting with an elder-care attorney. Update your wills, medical and financial powers of attorney, beneficiary designations, and funeral plans. Having these documents in place made the difference between chaos and clarity for me. Without them, the early days after my husband’s death would have been far more difficult. (A friend of mine mentioned - make sure you have each other's passwords. And get at least 10 death certificates - she had to use one 17 years after her spouse's death!)

Do yourself a kindness: take care of these things now.

A Day of Progress (and Tomato Basil Soup)

On Tuesday, I finally received the death certificates I needed to start tackling the next round of paperwork. At 4:30 p.m., I called Social Security to apply for spouse death benefits—only to discover the wait time was going to be two hours. Absolutely not. So, I decided to try again first thing Wednesday morning.

At 7:59 a.m., I called back and got right in! It took about 30 minutes to complete everything over the phone, and I felt relieved… until the representative told me I would still need to bring a death certificate to the office in person.

“Can’t I do it online somehow?” I asked.

Nope. Not possible. So she booked the earliest appointment available anywhere in the Houston area: January 17th. Almost five weeks away. UGH. She mentioned I could try going to the League City office without an appointment and hope for the best.

I hung up the phone, grabbed my keys, and drove straight there.

I arrived at 9:07 a.m. and—miracle of miracles—there were hardly any people waiting. I was in and out within ten minutes! What a relief to have that part done.

On the way home, I stopped to do some Christmas shopping for my grandpets at the local pet shop. Wow… dog food is expensive. I’m glad my new dog, Poochini, doesn’t eat much – LOL! 

Once home, I uploaded my documents to the VA and began my applications for Surviving Spouse benefits and funeral reimbursement. That wrapped up yesterday’s paperwork—today’s stack awaits.

Next, I treated myself to lunch with a friend and played Canasta at OLLI, which was a much-needed break from the paperwork grind.

Later in the afternoon, a package arrived—a gift from dear friends who are also walking through Alzheimer’s in their own family. Their thoughtfulness really touched me. It was a Spoonful of Comfort box, filled with two large containers of Tomato Basil soup, six cookies, several dinner rolls, and even a ladle. What a beautiful idea. I want to remember this as it brought such comfort at just the right moment.

Of course, I ate a cookie first—it was delicious! The soup and rolls made the perfect dinner.

Today’s plan: more paperwork, Canasta at OLLI, and a bit of writing. Slowly but surely, I’m getting things done. 

 

Shelly was the strong one today. . .

Today we picked up Bill’s urn. I say we because I had to call Shelly to help me — I couldn’t get myself there on my own. The moment they brought the urn out, I lost it. I wasn’t functioning. Shelly stepped in automatically, talking to the funeral staff, taking the instructions for the flag, handling the paperwork for the Houston Veterans Memorial.

And me?
I just kept writing the check. That’s all I did. While she was being the adult in the room, I sat there crying and signing my name like it was the only thing I was capable of.

When it was time to leave, she carried the urn. I cried the entire way home.

Back at the apartment, she said she’d keep the urn, the flag, and the paperwork until Monday. I agreed without thinking. She stayed with me until I calmed down, and then she left — still carrying everything I should have been taking responsibility for.

And here’s the part I hate to admit. I’m relieved she has it all. Relieved to the point where I didn’t even stop to think about the weight I was putting on her until after she left. 

But I’m also deeply grateful. She stepped in without a word, without making me feel worse, without asking for anything. She just did what needed to be done.

Today, I couldn’t be strong. Shelly was — and I’m thankful for her in a way I can hardly put into words. 

Surprise! What I Didn't Expect After the Passing of My Husband

I thought I had prepared for this. Bill had been declining for years, and I had slowly adjusted to the ongoing grief that comes with watching someone you love fade. I knew he was suffering, and part of me was ready for him to have peace. When he passed, I felt relief—briefly. Two days later, the real grief arrived.

I didn’t expect how sad I would be. Every time I see his photo or think about the life we had, I cry. I miss the old Bill. I miss having a “person”—someone who loved me, supported me, and enjoyed the simple routines of life with me. I miss hearing, “That was delicious,” when I fixed his favorite meal or “You look nice” when I dressed up for him. Those were constants in the early years. The last few years were different, but now that he’s gone, I can only seem to remember the good ones, and that brings its own sadness.

I also didn’t expect how quickly my income would drop. I knew it would happen, but the speed was shocking. Social Security immediately stopped his benefit. The VA disability pension was deposited and then immediately withdrawn. One of his pensions stayed only because it was the end of the month; a week later, that too was reduced. I will eventually receive his Social Security and, most likely, a smaller VA surviving spouse benefit, but nothing can even be applied for until the death certificates arrive. How long will that take? Who know? Fortunately, I had saved his VA money, so I’m prepared for the short-term gap. But I wonder how many widows and widowers know how fast these financial changes hit.

We aren’t having a service, and I’m not part of a church or work community. There is no gathering where people line up to hug you, no casserole deliveries, no flowers sent to a funeral home. What I didn’t expect was how comfort would show up anyway, just from different places. Quiet walks around town. Flowers from my daughter’s friend. A sympathy card from someone I hadn’t heard from in years. Laughing with friends at Dickens on the Strand. Simple meals with my kids.

And then there’s Poochini—the animated dog I brought home from the VA. He barks, wags his tail, and greets me whenever I walk into the apartment. Odd as it sounds, there is comfort in that kind of steady presence.

I’ve also been surprised at how quickly I’ve slipped into rebuilding mode. I’m making plans, seeing friends, organizing my finances, and exploring new business ideas. I expected to be immobilized by grief for months, but instead I’m already taking steps forward. I didn’t anticipate that.

What I’ve learned is that loss rarely looks the way you think it will. And that’s what I didn’t expect.

More Changes. . .

While completing VA paperwork yesterday, I reached the line that asked for the dates of my marriage to Bill—start and end. Seeing those two words side by side hit me hard. It made me realize, in a very official way, that my marriage ended the day Bill died. I don’t think that reality had fully landed until I typed those numbers into the boxes.

That realization didn’t leave me unchanged. This morning, I changed my Facebook profile to “Widowed,” and I took off my wedding rings. Some of my readers may think I’m callous for doing this so soon; but the truth is, I’ve been a widow for many years. Those who understand dementia know that goodbye happens long before death. 

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Bill was the perfect husband for me. He gave me a very good life and two children who are the best part of it. We had good years together, as well as difficult ones. In fact, as of December 26, we would have been married for 55 years; and I will always be grateful for the time we had together.

I did everything I could to make Bill’s last years as comfortable as possible. He deserved that. But they were incredibly difficult years, and they took a toll on me. I’m approaching 76 now, and I want to reclaim some of the life that was put on hold while I cared for him. I know he would want that for me – just as I would want it for him if our roles had been reversed.

I tried wearing the rings on my right hand, but they don’t fit. Maybe, in time, I’ll have the engagement ring re-set into something new. For now, it’s tucked away safely, along with all the memories we shared. Bill will never be forgotten, but it’s time for me to move forward.