My Story

Have I told you my story of becoming The Retired Widow? I think it’s a story many of you can relate to.

I was married—then I wasn’t.
I was working—then I wasn’t.

I was someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s mommy, someone’s sister, someone’s teacher.
I was someone.

Then I wasn’t.

I first met my husband when I was seven and he was twelve. He was a friend of my brothers. Our families went to the same church and the same schools. At that time, I was the annoying little sister. He hung out at the house occasionally, but I didn’t pay much attention then.

Fast forward thirteen years.

I was twenty; he was twenty-five. My brothers were busy with their own lives, and somewhere along the way, they lost contact with him. My husband’s sister-in-law set us up. I don’t think she realized we already knew each other. She gave him my number—yes, it was 1983, and cell phones were a long way off.

We talked for hours that first night and arranged our first date.

He showed up at my house, and I remember walking out of the living room, looking at him, and thinking, Yup, I’m going to marry him. I don’t know why I thought that. I wasn’t even thinking that way—but I knew.

From that day forward, we were together for almost thirty-five years. There was never any doubt that we would be together until death did us part. I thought we would have more time.

My husband suffered a massive heart attack on February 10, 2020, while I was at work. He was sixty-two. I was fifty-seven. It wasn’t fair. We were planning to travel when I retired. We were looking forward to being grandparents. We were looking forward to growing old together.

I went back to work a week after my husband’s funeral. I could have taken more time, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was a zombie that first week back to teaching. The administration was supportive, and the students were especially sweet. I don’t remember if I taught anything. I do remember thinking that lesson plans would not be happening.

When the fog lifted a little, I knew I had to figure out what was going on with my husband’s investment accounts. I met with his advisor, informed him of my husband’s death, and began transferring everything into my name. I was planning to move one account from cash into a mutual fund, but I was advised not to do so. It was the first week of March 2020.

I had no idea about COVID. I didn’t even know what it meant.

A week later, the world shut down.

I remember thinking, Good. Schools were closed for the rest of the year, and I needed that time to heal. I believed I would be ready to return to work when the crisis was over—and I was.

The following school year, I returned, hoping for some sense of normalcy. It never came. There would never be “normal” again. Teaching through masks was a nightmare. Students who chose hybrid learning were far behind. Discipline was nearly nonexistent, and learned helplessness became the norm. This continued until I finally decided to retire.

From 2020 to 2023, my health declined. I remained in a rheumatoid arthritis flare and lived with constant pain. Eventually, I needed both knees replaced. Despite my best efforts, I could not control my diabetes. I was exhausted.

In December 2023, at sixty-one years old and recovering from my second knee replacement, I had an epiphany.

I could retire.
I should retire.
I needed to retire.

June 1, 2024, became my retirement date.

What has happened since then? I decided to live my best life. I decided to help other retired widows. I decided I was going to be someone again.

January 2026’s theme is Renewal:
A fresh start doesn’t mean starting over; it means starting wiser.

My goal for The Retired Widow is to embrace life’s transitions with grit, grace, and gratitude. If you’re ready for this new phase, I invite you to contact me and share your story. I would love to build a community of like-minded retired widows—together.

Blessings,

Bethanne