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

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.