Grief has visited many chapters of Stephanie’s life — from the loss of her brother in her twenties to walking alongside her husband Jeff during his final months, and ultimately facing life as a widow in her early fifties. Each of these experiences was distinct, yet woven together by one constant: love.

This love anchored Stephanie in the hardest moments. Love that left behind a silence only the heart could understand. And love that, in its absence, became something she carried forward in new and unexpected ways. 

Here is Stephanie‘s story, in her own words:

Grief has threaded its way through many seasons of my life — losing my brother in my twenties, supporting my husband Jeff through a terminal diagnosis, and eventually becoming a widow at fifty-three. While each experience carried its own ache, the common thread was always love. The kind of love that leaves an imprint so deep, its absence becomes a language of its own. What I’ve learned is that grief is not just pain — it’s the shape love takes when the person we shared it with is no longer physically here.

Supporting Jeff through his end-of-life journey at home was both the most excruciating and sacred experience of my life. It was a profound act of love — walking beside him, honouring his choice to die with dignity, and holding space for every last moment we had together. There were days filled with laughter, wrapped in blankets of memory and music… and others steeped in unbearable heartbreak as I watched the man I adored suffer. But through every breath, every decision, I knew I was giving him the final gift of being seen, heard, and deeply loved — not as a patient, but as my partner.

Caregiving taught me about a quiet strength I didn’t know I had. It revealed a deeper well of resilience, compassion, and presence – not just for Jeff, but for myself. Grief stripped away all the roles I’d once used to define myself. And in that rawness, I met a version of me who was softer, braver, and more grounded in what truly matters.

Our culture often wants grief to be tidy, private, or quickly resolved. But grief isn’t a problem to be fixed, it’s a story that needs to be witnessed. Society could better support grieving partners by making space for long, nonlinear healing, through education, workplace compassion, and honest conversations that don’t flinch at sorrow. We need a community that shows up after the casseroles stop coming. We need language that doesn’t pathologise mourning, but honours it. 

Because when someone loses the love of their life, they don’t just lose a person. They lose a future, a rhythm, a world. And what they need most is not fixing — but to be held, heard, and gently reminded that their grief, like their love, is sacred. Now, as a certified grief coach I’ve transformed my painful losses into supporting others as they move forward to find joy again.