If you're a parent in that situation right now, I want you to hear this clearly: you don't need your adult children's permission to move forward with your life.
Imagine sacrificing twelve years of your life for your kids — and then having those same kids try to guilt you out of ever being happy again. That's exactly what's happening in this post, and it's more common than you'd think.
This post came from a widower on Reddit, and I want to walk through it because I think a lot of people are going to see themselves in this story.
He writes that his wife passed away from cancer twelve years ago, leaving him alone with three kids. And listen to what he did — he never dated. Not once. He even admits that if he had tried, his kids wouldn't have approved anyway, so he just focused entirely on them. He gave them everything.
Fast forward to today. His oldest daughter is married. His two younger sons are in college and out of the house. And now it's just him. Every single day he leaves for what he calls his "soul sucking job," and every single evening he comes home to an empty house — exactly the way he left it. No warm meal. No noise. No one to come home to.
He's 48 years old and in good health, and he's finally started talking to a friend's divorced sister. They like each other. That's it. They're just talking.
But his friend's son — who happens to be close with his youngest — found out and told the kids. And now all three of them are angry at him for, in his words, "moving on." He says they just want him to keep living a miserable life to honor their mom.
Think about that for a second. They believe the only way to prove he loved her is to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable.
So here's what I want to say directly to his kids: You're a bunch of jerks
. Your father spent twelve years putting you first. Twelve years of coming home to that empty house, grinding through a job he hates, raising you on his own after an enormous loss — all while carrying a grief that most people can't even imagine. He did all of that for you. Without complaint. And now that you're grown, out of the house, and living your own full lives, he's supposed to just stop? Freeze in place? Keep the house quiet and the table empty forever as some kind of tribute to your mom? That is not honoring her. That is needless suffering — and you're the ones demanding it. That says a lot more about you than it does about him. Your dad loving someone new does not erase your mom. It does not mean he loved her any less, and it does not mean he's forgotten her. He can carry her in his heart for the rest of his life and still choose not to be alone. Those two things are not in conflict. So instead of policing how your dad is living his life, maybe focus on living your own.
And to the widower himself: It’s time to set some healthy boundaries with your kids. Their feelings are not a life sentence. You are 48 years old with decades ahead of you, and you deserve more than an empty house and a job you hate. You are allowed to want another fulfilling relationship — someone to come home to, someone to share the good days and the hard ones with. And here's something I really want you to hear: that is not a betrayal of your marriage. In fact, choosing to open your heart again, to keep living fully and completely — that's one of the best ways you can honor your late wife. It shows that the life you built together meant something. That love is worth pursuing again.
Your kids are adults. So are you. You do not need their permission to move forward and have a life.
And consider this: how you handle this moment will be the model your kids carry with them for the rest of their lives. One day, some of them may face loss too. And when they do, they'll remember what you did right now — whether you shrunk back to keep the peace, or whether you showed them that it's okay to keep living, to keep choosing life, even after grief. You raised your kids. You loved your wife. You grieved. You still get to have a future — just like they do.
I'm Abel Keogh, author of the book Dating a Widower, and I'll see you all next week.