Why Widows and Widowers Will Never Be Their “Old Self” Again

September 3, 2025

When someone loses a spouse, they’re forever changed. Widows and widowers don’t go back to being their “old self” — and that’s not always a bad thing. In this video, Abel Keogh, author of Dating a Widower, explains how grief can either harden or refine widows and widowers and what that means for future relationships.

Hi, I’m Abel Keogh, author of the book Dating a Widower and recently, a viewer left the following comment on my YouTube channel:

"Abel, I’m dating a widower who lost his wife 1.5 years ago. There are no major red flags, and though we do have some issues, we are working through them. The problem is that my widower boyfriend is concerned that he’s not his old self anymore. He says he used to be more joking and lighthearted, and now he’s more of a serious person. Do you have any ideas on how to get more of his old self back?"

Great question. Here’s my answer: loss changes you. When you lose a spouse, the way you see the world and interact with others is forever altered. Your widower isn’t going to be exactly his “old self,” and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. What matters is how he’s changed since his loss.

Some widows and widowers struggle after loss. If they’re not careful, grief can pull them in the opposite direction. Instead of softening their hearts, it can harden them. They can become bitter, cynical, or so focused on their own pain that they stop showing up for others. Some withdraw entirely, shutting people out. Others lean too heavily on their kids, friends, or a new partner to carry the weight of their grief.

Grief can also make people careless. They might neglect their health, finances, or responsibilities. Some numb themselves with alcohol, overspending, or rebound relationships. Anger, irritability, and impatience can replace kindness and compassion. And perhaps the most damaging of all, they can get stuck in the past—clinging so tightly to their late spouse and old routines that they miss out on building a new, meaningful life.

But grief can also refine and reshape a person. For those willing to work through the pain, it can teach patience, resilience, and compassion. Loss often sharpens priorities: wasted time and meaningless drama don’t matter as much, relationships are valued more, and loved ones are appreciated in ways they weren’t before. Life feels fragile, so every day is lived with greater focus and intention.

For many, grief strips away pretense. There’s no energy left to fake or play games. Instead, it fosters honesty and authenticity. You learn to show up as yourself, unapologetically, and to invest your time in things that truly matter.

I can give a personal example. In the days after Krista’s first death anniversary, I did some soul searching to make sure I was ready to marry Julianna. Mentally, I felt profoundly changed—like I had aged and grown 20 years wiser. As a result, I was:

More compassionate
More grounded and focused
More resilient
More patient
More grateful
More spiritual
More serious
Less judgmental
More intentional
More present

I’m not perfect—far from it—but my loss forced me to learn some hard lessons. Those changes helped shape me into someone ready for a lasting, loving marriage. Had I gone the opposite direction, allowing bitterness or self-centeredness to take hold, there’s no way Julianna and I would have enjoyed 22 years together and raised seven kids.

At the end of the day, loss changes all of us. Some people let grief harden them; others let it refine them. Your widower isn’t going to return to his old self, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a better man than he was before. The real question isn’t whether he’ll crack the same jokes or carry the same lightness he once did—it’s whether the man standing in front of you today has grown into someone stronger, wiser, and more intentional. That’s the version of him you need to evaluate, because that’s who you’ll be building a life with.

I’m Abel Keogh, author of the book, Dating a Widower, and I’ll see you all next Wednesday.

You're Not the Late Wife

August 26, 2025

From the second edition of Marrying a Widower….coming next month!

Upset That Your Widowed Mom or Dad Is Dating?

August 20, 2025

If you’re an adult and upset that your widowed mom or dad is dating again, relationship coach Abel Keogh adds some needed perspective to this heartbreaking issue.

If you’re an adult and upset that your widowed mom or dad is dating again, this message is for you.

I get it. It’s hard to see Mom or Dad dating again. Maybe you're still grieving. Maybe it feels like a betrayal to see them with someone else. Maybe you're worried they’re rushing into something. Or maybe it just stings to see them building a new life, which means spending less time with you.

Whatever the reason, your pain is real. But here’s the truth: you lost a parent. That’s heartbreaking. But your surviving parent? They lost a spouse. A partner. The person they built their life with. And now, they're trying to rebuild that life without them.

You might think it’s too soon. You might not like who they’re dating. You might feel it’s “disrespectful” to your deceased mom or dad, but you don’t get to set the timeline for someone else’s grief—or their healing. But you don’t get to decide when someone else is allowed to feel love again. How would you feel, for example, if your parents told you who you could or couldn’t date, marry, or share your life with? Would you consider that disrespectful?

You know what else is disrespectful? Telling your mom or dad they should be content being alone. Telling them they can only come to events if they leave their new love back home. Withholding visits to their grandchildren because you don’t like their decisions or that their life, moving forward, must revolve around your feelings and sit quietly on the sidelines.

Let me be clear: your parent is still alive and they still have love to give. They still want connection, companionship, and joy. Loving someone else doesn’t diminish their love for their late spouse, for you, or anyone else. And while he or she doesn’t need your blessing to pursue these things, they do want you to be part of this new chapter with them.

If you make their new partner feel like an outsider, if you lay down ultimatums like, “You can come, but she can’t,” or “I don’t want him around my kids,” you’re not protecting your family. You’re trying to control it. That’s not concern, that’s manipulation. And it hurts your parents and your relationship with them more than you realize.

No one’s asking you to forget your late mom or dad. But if you truly love the parent who’s still here, show it. Support them. Let them live. Let them be whole again—not frozen in time to fit your comfort zone. Get to know the new person in their life and give your surviving parent a chance to show what love looks like.

So ask yourself honestly: Are you honoring your parents, or are you just angry they’re moving forward without your permission? Is it worth destroying a relationship just because you don’t approve of their choices? You don’t have to embrace their new love or agree with their decision to move forward, but you should at least give them a chance to move forward in life.

I’m Abel Keogh, author of the book, Dating a Widower, and I’ll see you all, next Wednesday.

What Running Couldn't Fix

August 13, 2025

I can’t remember the exact day I laced up those old running shoes, but I remember the mirror.

I had been sitting behind a desk for over a year, working my first “real” job out of college. The tech company stocked free snacks and sodas, and I’d been living off both. At six-foot-three, I carried my 235 pounds better than most, but there was no mistaking it—I had let myself go. Standing shirtless in front of the mirror that evening, I didn’t recognize the man staring back. He looked worn out and soft, weighed down by more than just extra pounds. I needed to fix something and wasn’t sure where to start. So, I reached for an old pair of running shoes.

They were beat-up, dusty, and shoved in the back corner of my closet. I laced them up and stepped out into a hot July evening. From the street, I had a clear view of the sun setting behind Antelope Island in the middle of the Great Salt Lake. I hadn’t regularly exercised in over a year, so I set a modest goal: run one mile. I remember almost nothing from that run except a neighbor mowing his lawn who paused long enough to give me a look—a mix of pity and curiosity—as I shuffled by.

I finished the run without stopping, but my side ached and my legs throbbed from the effort. Still, the pain felt earned. It was something real and solid in a life that was slowly unraveling. My wife Krista and I had been married for almost two years, and our relationship was starting to fray. I worked during the day, and she worked evenings, and between the long commutes and schedule differences, we barely saw each other during the week. On weekends, we were often pulled into the orbit of her family. Krista had a complicated, somewhat co-dependent relationship with her parents, and the time we might have spent reconnecting as a couple was usually devoted to dealing with their problems. It felt like our marriage, instead of being a shared life, was becoming a support system for everyone else.

I ran again the following evening. It was another slow, heavy mile, minus the neighbor. The next night, I did yet another mile. The mileage wasn't much, but those lumbering runs gave me traction when it felt like other parts of my life were slipping.

Little by little, my daily mileage increased. Before long, I found myself at the high school track each evening, circling its familiar loop alongside others who showed up in the fading light. We didn’t speak, but there was comfort in the shared rhythm—the steady beat of footsteps, the rise and fall of breath, the silent agreement to keep going. We were strangers, but we each carried something heavy, hoping that forward motion might ease a burden we couldn’t fully leave behind.

I couldn’t fix my marriage, change our work schedules, or untangle the mess of Krista’s family dynamics, but I could lace up my shoes and run. In a world that felt unpredictable and unyielding, that small choice was mine. I reclaimed part of myself one step and one mile at a time. Somewhere along the way, the soda lost its appeal, and the snacks no longer offered comfort. The weight came off—50 pounds in six months—but what mattered more was the sense of control I began to regain. When everything else felt out of sync, running gave me something solid to hold on to. It became proof that progress, however small, was still possible. For the first time in years, I could point to something and say: this is working. And for a while, that was enough. After I lost the weight, running became more than exercise—it became a ritual, a rhythm, and a refuge. Most of all, it gave me a way to face the things I couldn’t control and clarity to start repairing what I could.

When Krista and our nine-day-old infant daughter died the following year, there was no manual for how to survive that kind of loss. But each morning, the road was there. The pavement didn’t offer advice or try to cheer me up. It simply let me run. Mile after mile, I tried to sort through the grief, confusion, and the unbearable silence of a home that had once been full. Running didn’t fix the hole inside me. It couldn’t. However, it gave me time to breathe, space to think, and a rhythm to steady myself as I slowly figured out what could be fixed and what I had to let go.

When I started dating again, running became a bridge. I met a woman named Julianna. She was strong, focused, fresh off a recent marathon win, and already training for the next. Eventually, we grew close enough that she let me into that part of her world. Every morning at 5:00 a.m., I drove to her apartment for training runs. We didn’t talk much, but those quiet miles gave us something solid: time together without distractions and shared effort side by side. These morning runs didn’t fix my past, but they helped me build something in the present. Step by step, breath by breath, running helped us figure out how to move forward and navigate the unique issues of dating a recent widower. Running didn’t solve my problems or resolve Julianna’s concerns, but it showed my dedication and became something we could build a relationship on.

We married soon after. The years that followed were joyful, but chaotic. We had three kids in under three years, which meant diapers, sleepless nights, and a house that was never quiet. There were stretches when the money ran short, and jobs felt more draining than stable—seasons marked by layoffs, difficult bosses, and days we counted down until quitting time. Illness visited too, uninvited and unplanned, reminding us how fragile stability can be. And, like every couple, we had our share of hard conversations and growing pains as we built a life together. Running couldn’t pay bills, cure sickness, or solve arguments, but it gave us time to reflect and a rhythm we could share.

At first, we pushed one jogging stroller, then two, the second being a double-wide. As the kids got older, they biked alongside us. To this day, they remember being bundled in blankets on frosty mornings or pedaling through puddles to see who could make the biggest splash.

As our family grew from three to seven children, our challenges differed from the ones I’d known before. When Krista and I worked opposite shifts and her family’s needs often swallowed up our weekends, life felt scattered and disconnected. Now, the noise of babies crying and toddlers squabbling still drained me, but it came from something we were building together—a life that, for all its chaos, finally felt like it belonged to me too. Alongside the exhaustion came moments of laughter, wonder, and small joys like sticky hugs, unexpected questions, and giggles echoing through the house, making it easier to bear. Running didn’t quiet the craziness, but it gave us an outlet and a ritual. Each run was a reminder, however brief, that we were still moving forward together.

Four of our seven kids eventually became runners themselves. We’ve paced them through 5Ks and training runs, watched them struggle, sweat, and find their stride on cross-country and track teams. Not all stuck with it—one chose swimming, another volleyball, and the youngest is still figuring it out. I’ve learned I can’t shape their paths, but I can run beside them, help them push through a hard mile, and show them what it looks like to keep going. They’ve each learned, in their own way, what running taught me years ago: life doesn’t always go as planned, but there’s value in the effort and in finishing what you can.

These days, I mostly run alone—thirty or forty quiet minutes each morning to think, pray, ponder, or simply let the silence stretch. Sometimes I run with Julianna or one of the kids, especially when someone needs space to talk or just be close. Occasionally, a neighbor joins me, and we fall into an easy rhythm, the way runners do, when effort is shared. I’m not chasing times or distance. I run to stay centered—to begin the day with something steady, something that reminds me I’m still here, breathing, and capable of taking the next step. My body doesn’t recover like it used to. The miles leave their mark, but I still lace up—not because I expect running to fix anything, but because it’s already carried me through more than I ever thought I could bear.

Running didn’t save me. It didn’t erase the sorrow of losing Krista or solve the mess that came after. However, it gave me something solid beneath my feet when everything else felt uncertain. It helped me grow into the kind of man and father Julianna and my children needed. It gave me rhythm when life felt scattered, breath when the weight was heavy, and forward motion when standing still would’ve been easier. Along the way, it gave Julianna and me a way to build something new in the life we were creating together.

This month marks twenty-five years of running—tens of thousands of miles, countless mornings, and one quiet truth I keep learning: you don’t have to fix everything or have all the answers. Sometimes it’s enough to keep moving—step by step, breath by breath—toward the life that’s still unfolding in front of you.

###

Choosing Between My Grandson and My Fiancée

August 6, 2025

Relationship Coach Abel Keogh answers the following question from a viewer: "What about my relationship with my grandson who is turning 13 this week? The problem is that he needs me to be at his party but his mom refuses to let me bring my future wife . Her excuse is she just doesn’t know this lady enough to allow her around her family .I’m put between either going without her and hurting my fiancé or not going and hurting my grandson. How do I handle this situation without dying inside my own heart?"

Abel’s Answer: This is an awful situation that you find yourself in, and unfortunately, it’s one that many widows and widowers experience when their adult children aren’t happy that mom or dad is dating again. You love your grandson, and you want to be there for him. But here’s the hard truth: What his mom is doing is engaging in manipulative behavior, and going to that party without your fiancée will only reward and reinforce her behavior.

The excuse that she “just doesn’t know” your future wife sounds reasonable on the surface—but let’s be honest: if she wanted to know her, my guess is that she’s had plenty of chances. In fact, she could use this party as a chance to get to know her better. What his mom is really saying is, “I don’t like your relationship, so I’m going to control how and when it’s allowed to exist around my family.”

That’s not a healthy dynamic, and if you give in, you send a clear message: she can control your future marriage by holding your grandson over your head. That’s not fair to you, your fiancée, or even your grandson—who is being used as leverage.

So what do you do? You stand up for your relationship by kindly but firmly telling your grandson’s mom that you won’t attend events where your future wife isn’t welcome. If she wants a real relationship with you, it needs to be built on love and mutual respect, not ultimatums and manipulative behavior.

I don’t know if your 13-year-old grandson has a phone, but I would call or text him and let him know that you can’t make the party, but wish him a happy birthday and see if there’s another time you can visit. I feel bad that he’s caught in the middle of this, but the only way the situation will improve is by taking a stand and letting his mom know that her manipulative and unreasonable behavior won’t be tolerated.

The Joke About Two Devils Who Opened a Store

July 11, 2025

Two devils were sitting in Hell, looking bored. One devil sighed and said, "You know, Hell just isn’t as profitable as it used to be. We need to find a way to rake in more souls... I mean, money."

The second devil raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how do you suggest we do that?”

The first devil grinned. “I’ve got it. We need to open a store. But not just any store. A place that makes the shopping experience so miserable that people think they’re getting a deal, but in reality, it’s pure hell. And they’ll keep coming back for more.”

The second devil thought for a moment. “Alright, I’m intrigued. What's your master plan?”

“Easy,” said the first devil. “We charge a membership fee. Not enough to make them angry, but enough to make them feel like they’re part of some exclusive club. No one wants to feel left out, especially when their pride is on the line.”

The second devil chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll get them hooked. What else you got?”

“We sell everything in bulk,” said the first devil, rubbing his hands together. “12 packs of olive oil, 50-pound bags of rice. You know, stuff they’ll never use but will think is a deal. We’ll play on their greed. They’ll end up buying way more than they need. Waste everywhere. It’ll be glorious!”

The second devil grinned. “I love it. And let’s throw in free samples at choke points in the store. Not only will they think they’re getting a taste of something special, but we’ll create bottlenecks so people can’t move! Nothing says hell like being stuck in an aisle for eternity.”

“Exactly!” said the first devil, his eyes gleaming. “And then we only open a few checkout lines. The lines will be long, torturous—just like their shopping experience. They’ll spend hours getting their stuff, and by the time they leave, they’ll feel like they’ve earned their deal!”

The second devil clapped his hands. “This plan is perfect! It’ll be pure chaos—and we’ll make a fortune! Now we just need a name.”

The first devil thought for a second, then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. We’ll call it... Costco.”

The Second Reason Marriages to Widows and Widowers End in Divorce

July 9, 2025

In this episode of Widower Wednesday, Abel Keogh, author of Dating a Widower, shares the second reason marriages to widows and widowers fall apart: Their partner doesn't set and enforce healthy boundaries when dating. Learn about the necessity of setting healthy boundaries in this video.

The First Reason Marriages to Widows and Widowers End in Divorce

July 2, 2025

In this episode of Widower Wednesday, Abel Keogh, author of Dating a Widower, shares the first reason marriages to widows and widowers fall apart: The widow or widower isn't ready to open their heart. Learn what to watch for, how to prepare, and how you can know a widow or widower is ready before you tie the knot.

The Third Reason Marriages to Widows and Widowers End in Divorce

June 18, 2025

In this episode of Widower Wednesday, Abel Keogh, author of Dating a Widower, shares the third major reason marriages to widowers fall apart: kids—not just his, but hers too. From blending families to co-parenting battles to grown kids bringing chaos into the home, unresolved kid-related issues can destroy a relationship if the couple isn’t on the same page. Learn what to watch for, how to prepare, and why open eyes and honest conversations before marriage are critical to long-term success.

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