I am a two-time widow in her 20s.
My name is A. Olivia Nelson.
This is my story.
Being a widow before you’ve hit your twenty-fifth birthday seems insane. Try it again several years later, in the same decade and, well—I’m sure you can imagine the difficulty.
My two late partners knew me as Olivia: a deep in thought writer whose artistic, old soul loved loving on others. In my world, there was always a bright side. How could there not be? People knew me as an encourager, and in my very imperfect world, I still managed to rediscover glimmers of hope.
But in 2017, the boyfriend I knew I’d marry died.
The few days preceding his passing left tension between us. We weren’t in a rough patch, but I can think of better terms for us to have been on before he died. His sudden death didn’t allow me to say goodbye or have any last conversations.
Guilt overwhelmed me, and all the bright sides of life bubbled up into a disappearing vapor.
Every aspect of my world changed. Figuratively and literally. He died six weeks from us relocating and doing so alone was challenging. The little support I did have wasn’t close by, I knew almost no one at
our my new location, and trying to find help?
Forget it. I had a better chance of resuscitating him.
Finding resources for a grieving girlfriend is nearly impossible.
Top Photo: My boyfriend’s ashes inside an orb and a ring he gave me, along with my (would have been wedding band).
Bottom Photo: A postcard my father found. It reads: “Death leaves holes.”
That doesn’t include facing all the “fun” and not-so-comforting platitudes people offered. You know, words such as, “You’re young. You can find someone else . . .”
Or, “At least he was just a boyfriend.” (I thought this is how all married couples started out; he could have been more than that one day.)
The whole “we weren’t married yet” notion made me question if I could be a “widow.” I later learned that in losing a partner – dating, engaged, or married – most of us share common feelings.
One death wasn't enough . . .
Two weeks to the day of losing my treasured boyfriend, I said my last goodbyes to my uncle. My great-aunt died two months later, and we buried my grandmother within that same six-month timespan.
These losses were laid on top of other hardships: The company I relocated 600 miles for laid me off two weeks after starting. I’ll never forget because it was my late boyfriend’s birthday.
Financial overwhelm and loss hit me hard. I remember sitting on my apartment’s kitchen floor next to the garbage can crying, void of life and hope, while my mental, physical and emotional health suffered.
I don’t know everything about grief, but when you talk to me about it, I understand.
Becoming a Widow . . . Again
Top: My fiancé and I went to the beach almost daily. It was our happy place.
Bottom: This website’s logo, a broken but whole heart, and layered in colors because grief is not one dimensional.
Eventually, after years of adjusting, navigating through my previous loss, going through the hardest of grief waves, and bouncing back happily, my best friend and I reconnected. He and I fell in love, and we embraced every moment together.
We traveled a ton – twenty-five places in one year – survived living long distance, relocated twice, came close to launching a business, created recipes and loved life together. He even encouraged me to keep pictures of my late boyfriend.
Our relationship wasn’t perfect, as none are, but it sure was close.
But then it happened.
Eleven days before the anniversary of my late boyfriend’s passing, and barely a month shy of the COVID-19 pandemic, my fiancé died. He was young, vivacious, and funny; and I sat outside on a rainy, winter night speaking to detectives and paramedics who were as bewildered as I was, wondering how a man who had no signs of death dropped dead on our kitchen floor, dying within seconds.
They called the loss “sad.” Marked it as “natural causes.” And I cried, grieving the loss of my long-time best friend, greatest confidant, and soulmate.
A Twice-Widowed Life
With this surreal and unfathomable loss, I remembered what helped me cope the first time. I also recalled how difficult it was to deal with well-meaning people whose good intentions failed me. I questioned what this new grief journey would look like and how the culture surrounding death and loss could be changed.
Attempting to mend my own tender heart, and graciously aid others in their losses, especially during a world-wide pandemic, I created Learning About Grief.
Mixing Life with Death
Moving into the next phase of life as you grieve someone you never wanted to live life without is hard but never impossible.
Among many others I ‘ve lost, Jason is dead; and so is Michael. However, through it, I have a pretty good life. I think of them daily, yes; the tears show up through the passing years. Yet it’s important to recognize that losing the biggest piece of your life doesn’t mean you’ve lost your life.
Hope is fragile, but it exists; and happiness and grief can surprisingly coexist. People told me this years ago, I hated it.
“But you don’t understand,” I said to them angry and upset.
You see, this loss that you feel, or the loss that the person you love feels, will always be there. That love will never fade. The missing of them will continue on. And while it’s uncertain if it grief gets better, it does become different.
My advice to you is to hang in there. Lean into the pain. You will make it through, I promise. It may not seem like you will today, tomorrow, or years from now but somehow, you will.
And I’m here for you. Many of us in the grief community are. So, join us. Let us walk this long road together.