As a young, widowed dad I didn’t think I’d find love again – I was wrong

Being a young, single-parent widower is a tough and lonely world to live in.

My wife Katherine died in 2017 right in front of me and our eight-month-old baby. She was struck down instantly from a cardiac arrest, with no obvious cause.

I was so isolated in the months following her death. It was simply impossible for friends and family to understand the depth of my loss.

Katherine and I loved each other deeply and we shared a magical friendship. I thought of us as two young trees that grew up intertwined, only for one tree to die and be suddenly stripped away, leaving the other appearing deformed.

Yet at 37, I had a long future ahead of me, not only as a father but as a man who potentially wanted to love again.

I didn’t want to just shut down, wear black and become a miserable and bitter dad to my daughter. I grieved, but in my own way, in my own time.

I started to discover stories from people who had lost partners and found love again – people like Rio Ferdinand, Simon Thomas and comedian Patten Oswalt, each of whom were open about how they were healing and embracing their new lives.

Initially the idea of another relationship was alien, abhorrent. Mentally and emotionally, I was still married. I assumed it was highly unlikely that I would ever want to meet anyone – and even if I did, the relationship would never be as good as what Katherine and I had shared.

Besides, my single-parent widowed status was surely a deal-breaker for any woman.

I felt like ‘damaged goods’ – like I had a screw loose or a blown fuse in my head that prevented me from fully feeling and enjoying the company of another or being loved.

Yet like so many assumptions I made, I was mistaken.

It had only been about seven months since my wife passed when I sat next to her memorial tree and asked, ‘Please tell me it’s OK to find someone.’

I couldn’t stop thinking about how much life I still had left to live. I knew then that I wanted to eventually meet someone, but I wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Even the thought of dating again filled me with anxiety. To think, I would have to tell a complete stranger about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me within a few hours of meeting them.

The love I feel for each comes from different energies that are simply connected to the same thread in my life.

Even if I had managed to tell them before our first date, there were still questions. Is she supposed to ask about my late wife? Am I supposed to avoid my loss entirely? How soon is too soon to mention Katherine’s name?

I set up a dating profile, but within days I decided to take it down. ‘It just makes me feel so bad,’ I told friends.

I cried as I deleted my account, though I didn’t know it was from relief or something else.

In the weeks that followed I eventually agreed to go on a date with a friend of a work colleague. They knew about my past, which relieved some of the worry I felt. While it didn’t end up going anywhere, I did learn a lot about myself – mainly that I was under no pressure to find love again.

I gave up on the whole dating game and instead became a master juggler of nursery drop-offs, pickups, running a clean home, making meals and holding down a full-time job.

Yet, somewhere amid all the chaos, a little ‘me time’ was often found.

My best friend would sporadically hold pizza parties. No matter how I was feeling, these evenings were magnificent.

It was here that I met my future wife, Nicola. We were the only two single people at the party, sat opposite each other on a large table. We didn’t talk until all the pizza had been eaten – but once we started, we didn’t stop.

Unfortunately, many of Katherine’s friends did not share the same view. Before I met Nicola I had a good relationship with most of them, but within a few months of moving forward, I faced a barrage of anger, rejection and spitefulness. It was difficult to bring an end to friendships that were so meaningful to Katherine, but I refused to let my healing be dictated by anyone other than myself.

By moving forward I can honour Katherine’s legacies of love and service by modelling the best example that I can for my daughter, by wanting to build a family unit and living life with a new partner.

Connecting emotionally with Nicola has also really helped me understand the enormity of what I lost when Katherine died. Her love, life and death are the elements that have made me the person Nicola wants to marry and spend the rest of her life with.

It is important to remember that a grieving person is going to laugh and smile again, and I feel very humble, and very lucky, to have found love again.

My life is a journey in which I have to keep moving while holding onto every life lesson Katherine has given me. There is no turning back and definitely no moving on.

Mark is a member of the charity WAY Widowed and Young. You can read more of his story on his blog No Rain No Rainbows 

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