A Life Beyond Style Reflection on Widowhood, Grace, and Starting Over
Grief after loss doesn’t follow a clean timeline or quietly exit stage left. It lingers, it loops, and sometimes it surprises you on a random Tuesday afternoon. But for me, it lives in one very specific date: July 17.
It’s been six years since I lost Mr. Style. Six years since the man who stood behind the camera, supported every leap, and helped shape the life we built—was suddenly gone. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago. Others, like it just happened.
Grief doesn’t disappear. It just softens. It shifts shape. And somewhere along the way, I learned how to carry it without letting it carry me.
One of the biggest turning points in my grief journey was reclaiming our bedroom—not to erase the past, but to make space for who I was becoming.
Reclaiming My Bedroom After Grief After Loss
In March 2020, one of my sons moved home during the pandemic, and I spruced up the downstairs guest room. That decision rippled: I sent our Ralph Lauren–inspired bedroom set to its next chapter and created a space that was just for me.
And something unexpected happened—I fell in love with my home again. Not the home I had with him, but the one I was learning to love without him. That moment reminded me of something I wrote in Strong but Tired.
Grief didn’t get the last word. I did. I chose navy, magenta, and a striped headboard to do it. I didn’t just redecorate—I rebuilt myself.
There’s something sacred about the spaces we create. They hold us, witness us, and sometimes, they help put us back together. This room did exactly that during my grief after loss.
Oscar, my loyal sidekick, was there through it all—quiet, constant, always nearby. And now, six years later, as he begins to slow down, I feel grief knocking again. Not loudly. Just a gentle tap, like it remembers it’s been here before.
But this time, I’m different. I’ve built softer places to land. I’ve let beauty into the cracks. I’ve learned how to keep going, even when everything aches.
At 66, we know loss. We carry it—parents, friends, spouses, parts of ourselves. But life doesn’t stop. We still get dressed. We still set the table. We still make a home. That’s what I’ve learned through grief after loss.
My bedroom isn’t just where I sleep. It’s where I chose to live again. It reflects comfort, beauty, and the quiet courage to press on.
Oscar is part of that story. This room is part of that story. And I’m sharing it not because it’s perfect—but because it’s mine.
This isn’t just decor. It’s my soul, upholstered.
If you’re grieving, tired, or wondering what’s next—you’re not alone. There’s still beauty to be found. There’s still light to let in. And there’s still power in fluffing your pillows and choosing joy, even when it feels far away.
This is what style at a certain age looks like. Honest. Lived in. Still full of life.
Redecorating wasn’t just about paint colors or pillows—it was about personal transformation. Healing. Permission to say: I’m still here, and I deserve beauty, softness, and joy.
Design as Healing
My new bedroom is feminine, elegant, and just a little cheeky. The striped headboard grounds the room, while the Warhol-style prints and bold pink accents remind me not to take life—or grief—too seriously. It’s layered, like me. And for the first time in a long time, it feels entirely my own.
Grief after loss doesn’t mean you stay frozen in time. Sometimes, it means you give yourself permission to evolve. To bloom in a room of your own.
Beth’s Bedroom Staples:
- Upholstered stripe headboard
- Euro pillows
- Percale Euro Shams
- Channel Stitched Coverlet
- Velvet Lumbar Pillow
- Bright pink textured throw pillows
- Mohair Throw
- Framed Warhol-style art prints
- Modern ceiling fan
- Andy Warhol– tomato soup print (for personality and punch)
Housekeeping Tips for a Well-Styled Bedroom
I’m a magazine and book lover and always looking for ways to store both. Magazine holders come in handy and stacking books on my dresser works!
1. Store Sheets Inside a Pillowcase
No more mystery linen piles. Fold your fitted sheet, flat sheet, and one pillowcase, then tuck the entire set into the second pillowcase. It stacks neatly, stays together, and looks hotel-level organized on a closet shelf or in a bin.
Beth’s Tip: Keep two sets of sheets per bed—one on, one washed. That’s it. No hoarding wrinkled twin XLs from your college days.
2. Use Matching Bins and Baskets for Visual Calm
Storage doesn’t have to be sterile. Woven or fabric bins in a neutral palette bring texture to your space while hiding the chaos—think tech cords, books, dog toys, or backup lotions. I’m a big fan of Rattan Baskets. For off-season clothes, I use Storage Box with Window, and for off-season shoes, this Set of Shoe Organizers does the trick.
Where to use:
- Under the bed (especially with low-profile bins)
- On closet shelves
- Inside dressers or armoires
- At the foot of the bed as a catchall
3. Keep a “Last Touch” Tray on the Dresser
Designate a tray or shallow basket for jewelry, lip balm, hand cream, or your watch. It keeps surfaces tidy and prevents bedtime clutter from becoming visual noise.
Bonus: It makes dusting your dresser a breeze—lift one tray instead of 12 loose items.
4. Rotate Seasonal Items Twice a Year
Store off-season bedding (like flannel sheets or heavy throws) in labeled under-bed containers or vacuum-sealed bags. Bonus points for scented sachets or dryer sheets tucked inside to keep everything fresh.
Beth’s Tip: I zhuzh the bedroom twice a year—once in spring, once in fall. It’s my version of a seasonal reset.
5. Don’t Neglect the Ceiling Fan
Nothing ruins a serene bedroom vibe faster than dust bunnies twirling overhead. Use a microfiber duster with a telescoping pole or pillowcase trick (slide over blades and pull dust inward). Do this monthly—or whenever guests are coming.
6. Keep a Handheld Vacuum Within Reach—Because Pet Hair Happens
Between Oscar’s tumbleweeds and Ollie’s feline glitter (aka cat hair on every surface), a compact handheld vacuum is a bedroom must. Use it daily for quick passes over upholstered headboards, bedding, nightstands, or even lampshades.
Beth’s Pick:
The Shark WANDVAC Power Pet Hand Vacuum is small, powerful, and doesn’t sound like a leaf blower. It lives in my closet and earns its keep—especially on laundry day.
Pro Tip: Keep it plugged in or charged in a discreet corner so it’s always ready when fur flies.
7. Tame the Drawer Chaos—Once and For All
Drawers don’t need to be junk drawers in disguise. Use slim dividers, fabric bins, or shallow trays to give everything—socks, jewelry, lint rollers, lip balms—a designated space. No more digging through tangles to find your favorite sleep mask.
Beth’s Tip: I use drawer organizers like a capsule wardrobe: curated, intentional, and everything plays well together. Customizable Drawer Organizer is a must as is a Sock Organizer.
I didn’t plan to be single at 66—but I’m more than okay with it. In fact, most days, I love it.
Single at 66: Freedom, Frustration, and the Occasional Ferrari
There’s a peace that comes with living life on your own terms. I eat what I want. I decorate how I please. I don’t have to consult anyone before rearranging furniture or booking a solo trip. Oscar doesn’t complain if I hog the covers.
Yes, grief after loss still visits me. But so does joy. So does freedom.
And yes, I date. In fits and starts. When it feels light and interesting—not because I’m trying to fill a void. Some nights, I enjoy the ritual of getting dressed and sharing a meal with someone new. Other nights, the thought of sitting across from a man explaining how he almost bought a Ferrari—or worse, delivering a TED Talk disguised as a first date—makes me want to pour a glass of wine and dive into a good book instead.
I’ve learned to trust my own company. To love it, even. That, to me, is the most powerful kind of resilience.
Here’s what I know now: grief after loss doesn’t mean life ends. It just means you carry love in a new form. You make space for both absence and abundance. You create new rituals and find comfort in your own rhythm.
Grace in the Quiet
I still miss him. I always will. But I’ve learned to miss him while living. While laughing. While rebuilding. While sleeping in a room that reflects me.
Grief doesn’t erase joy. It just teaches you to appreciate it in smaller moments and softer ways.
This room is still where I come to exhale.
It’s where I remember everything I’ve lost—and everything I’ve been brave enough to hold onto.
Including Oscar the faithful German Shepherd who never once left my side.
And here’s what I’ve learned: loss doesn’t erase beauty. If anything, it sharpens your eye for it.
Let’s Talk About It…
Have you experienced grief after loss? Reclaimed a space—or a piece of yourself—along the way? I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated the second act. Leave a comment below or tag me on Instagram using #LifeBeyondStyle.
This month, I’m raising a glass to all the women learning how to live again—with style, heart, and just enough irreverence to make it interesting.
About The Author
A lovely piece of writing, it bought a lump to my throat. Andy your bedroom is beautiful! xxx
Thank you so much—that means the world to me. If it brought a lump to your throat, then maybe it touched that quiet place we all carry. I’m so glad the words resonated… and I’m thrilled you love the bedroom too! It’s become a little sanctuary, full of softness, light, and a whole lot of heart.
Sending hugs and gratitude your way. 💛
xo,
Beth,
Such a heartfelt and wonderful post.
I am so sorry for your loss.
Your post on grief was helpful as I have friends who have recently lost spouses.
I enjoy your sense of style and your posts.
Wishing you all the best,
Cste
Thank you so much, Cate—your kind words mean more than you know. I’m so sorry your friends are walking through such painful losses. Grief is such a personal, winding road, and if my words offered even a little comfort or clarity, then I’m grateful.
And thank you for the lovely compliment about my style—I truly believe fashion can be both armor and art, especially during life’s harder seasons.
Wishing you and your friends peace, strength, and moments of joy amid the healing. 💛
xo,
Dear Beth,
I know you had the love of your life and to have him no longer present in your life is HUGE. I have so much respect for you how and what you have done to try and create a life for yourself after loss. It’s a blessing that you have a close family, and that you have Kelly by your side and of course your three guys. Being a grandmother has changed so much for you.
Your bedroom looks nice and feminine. You created a safe haven for relaxation. Your Oscar must be the best comfort of all. Fur children bring comfort trust and love. I can’t imagine dating and trying to end an outing that is going no where. Book dates are the best kind.
Thank you for sharing your heart.
Thank you, truly, for this beautiful message—it wrapped around me like a warm shawl. You’re absolutely right—losing the love of your life leaves a space no one else can fill. But having a close family, Kelly, my boys, and now sweet baby June… it’s helped stitch the pieces back together, day by day.
And yes, Oscar is my loyal shadow and the very best kind of therapy dog—no words needed, just presence (and maybe a nudge for treats). That safe haven I created in my bedroom? He claimed it as his before I even finished fluffing the pillows. 😉
As for dating… whew. Let’s just say the exit strategy has become an art form. Book dates really are the best kind—no awkward goodbyes, just a cozy plot and a cup of tea.
Thank you for seeing me, for walking this path alongside me, and for reminding me why sharing our stories matters so much. 💛
xo,
Good day,
I just finished reading and thought of saying, it worth starting again on a clean bedroom. Not that momeries will be forgotten but to accept the healing and move on.
I am motivated and to that I am saying thank you.
Thank you for such thoughtful words. You said it beautifully—it’s not about forgetting the memories, but about creating space for healing and stepping forward. A fresh room can be a quiet, powerful act of reclaiming joy.
I’m so touched to hear you feel motivated. That’s exactly why I shared my story—so we can remind each other that starting again, in big ways or small, is always worth it.
Wishing you peace, courage, and a room that feels entirely like you. 💛
xo,
You write beautifully.
I lost my first husband at 30. It has been a tough road to navigate. Especially when he left me with unknown garbage that did not come to light until after he was gone. Some therapy helped. It still always feels like something is undone.
Your blog made me think of my retirement home in the next few years. Maybe this will be my place to claim my life back. My current husband is fantastic. We’ve had many good years. But something is still missing. A little color and a new space with time to renew will help. I cannot wait to start. You’ve inspired me.
Thank you for sharing such a vulnerable, layered story—it takes real courage to speak the truth of both heartache and healing.
Losing someone young, especially when the story isn’t as tidy as people expect, leaves behind a unique kind of ache—one that therapy may help soften, but never fully erase. That “something undone” you described? I think so many of us quietly carry that too.
I’m deeply touched that my post sparked something in you. A retirement home as a place to claim your life back—what a powerful, beautiful intention. And you’re absolutely right: a little color, a new space, and time carved out just for you can be its own kind of therapy. You deserve a space that reflects your joy, your growth, and the chapters still to come.
I hope you dive into that next season with bold paint, beautiful light, and a sense of possibility. You’ve already inspired me right back. 💛
xo,
Thank you for sharing your grief journey with us. I am challenged to find the joy in life again.
Thank you for your honesty—and for being here. That challenge to find joy again? It’s real. It doesn’t come all at once, and it rarely looks the way we expect. Some days, it’s just putting on real pants. Other days, it’s a full-on belly laugh that surprises you out of nowhere.
Please know that you’re not alone in feeling this way. Joy doesn’t mean the grief is gone—it just means we’re making room for both. And that, in itself, is a brave and beautiful thing.
Sending you strength for the days that feel heavy, and hope for the moments that still manage to shine through. 💛
xo,
Thank you for your heartfelt post. I got a zap in the pit of my stomach when I read the date that you most associate with your grief. July 17, 2019 is a date that I too associate with trauma. In my family’s case, it is not a death, but the day on which a former son-in-law caused horrific damage to my daughter, his now ex-wife, my two grandsons – his children who were 8 and almost 4 at the time, and me and my husband. It took five years for my daughter to get back on her feet. Lots of therapy and lots of financial help from me and my husband. There are still ripples being felt by all of us. The kids are still in therapy. I should be. But, we have survived. The upside is that I am closer to my daughter and her children than before. In many ways, I am co-parenting the boys with their mother. I am very determined to see them thrive. Each passing July 17 reminds me that my son-in-law did not destroy our family. I try not to think too much about the date. Instead, I focus on my older grandson’s July 20 birthday. Much better to focus on a happy date!
What an incredibly powerful and courageous message—thank you for sharing something so personal and deeply felt. I got chills reading it.
The kind of trauma your family endured leaves invisible scars that take a long time to heal—if they ever fully do. But the strength and love woven through your words speak volumes. You didn’t just survive—you rebuilt. You stood beside your daughter, held up your grandsons, and refused to let that one moment define the rest of your family’s story. That’s not just resilience—that’s fierce, unshakable love.
And I couldn’t agree more: reclaiming the calendar is one of the most powerful things we can do. Focusing on your grandson’s birthday is a beautiful, life-affirming way to shift the narrative. Light after darkness, joy after devastation—that’s how we win.
You are a force. And those boys are lucky to have you.
xo,
Thank you so much for today’s post! It says what I can’t put into words. I so needed to hear everything you said right now – I’m navigating but Im in the slow lane. Thank you for sharing! And your bedroom is beautiful – so you. Chic with a kick! I love it!
Oh, thank you—your words are like a warm hug. I know that slow lane well… sometimes it’s the only lane we’ve got, and that’s okay. Forward is still forward, even if it’s one breath, one choice, one tear (or chuckle) at a time.
I’m so glad the post found you when you needed it. And thank you for the kind words about the bedroom—it really is a little “chic with a kick,” isn’t it? Just like the woman I’m becoming.
Sending you strength, grace, and a gentle nudge to keep going—you’ve got this. 💛
xo,
Well said, Beth. I felt every word. You really are a special person. I love your honesty.
Thank you so much—that truly means the world to me. I’ve found that honesty is where the healing begins—for me and, I hope, for others too. If my words resonated, then we’re walking this road together… and that makes it a little less lonely. 💛
Grateful you’re here.
xo,
I too am a widow-8 years. It is a journey and grief is part of the journey but so is peace and happiness. I love seeing how you are still living a full life- your way. I wish you many years of peace and happiness.
Thank you so much for this beautiful note. You’re absolutely right—grief is part of the journey, but it doesn’t cancel out peace, joy, or the possibility of a full life. It just changes how we carry it.
Eight years in, and you’re still showing up with wisdom and grace—that’s something to be proud of. Thank you for the kind wishes, and I’m sending them right back your way. Here’s to living life on our own terms, with courage, style, and a whole lot of heart. 💛
xo,
That’s what I love about you. Honest and real. We have had the same experience and attitude. It’s been 3 years for me. Everything you’ve said and portrayed in this post resonates with me. I, too, have been wanting to change my bedroom. I’m adjusting to the solo life. You’ve been an inspiration. We always need role models. You’ve been one for me. I’ve found great comfort and purpose in facilitating a Grief Share group at my church. We who have experienced loss, need each other. Thank you Beth. Fashion and inspiration… who knew!!!😍
Oh my—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your words mean more than I can say. Three years in, and you’re choosing to show up, to lead, and to hold space for others through something as gut-wrenching as grief—that’s true strength and beauty in action.
I’m so honored to be part of your journey, and you’re absolutely right: we need each other. Grief isn’t something to “get over,” it’s something we learn to carry—and walking that road alongside others makes all the difference.
And yes… fashion and healing? Who knew that a lipstick, a blazer, or a new bedroom could be part of the toolkit? But here we are. 💛
Sending you big hugs, deep admiration, and a high five for being a light to others while you’re still healing too. That’s powerful.
xo,
Though I haven’t experienced grief like you have, I applaud where you are on your life journey and the fact that you are willing to share your feelings. I love your new bedroom!! It is feminine but also very classy. And all of the bright pink pictures!! So pretty and fun! You must of shopped for a long time to find them. Thank you for sharing!!
Thank you so much for your kind words and thoughtful encouragement—it truly means the world. Grief or not, we’ve all walked through something, and finding beauty and joy again is something worth celebrating, wherever we are on the path.
I had so much fun pulling the room together! The pink artwork was a hunt, but once I saw those pieces, I knew they were the perfect mix of fun, feminine, and just a little bold—kind of like this next chapter of life. 😊
Thanks for coming along with me and cheering me on!
xo,
Well said Beth!
I too am in my 6th year of loss (Dec 8). Everything you said is spot on. Thanks to you and your blog I have found comfort and resilience, especially in how I present myself to the world. Not to impress anyone but to do for myself.
After 2 years I moved to a different state (as we had planned together) Starting over is not for the faint of heart but it is possible.
Thank you Beth for all you do for all of us!
Oh, thank you—your words truly touched me.
Six years in, and you’re still standing tall with strength and grace—that’s no small feat. I love that you moved forward with the plans you made together. That’s such a beautiful way to honor what was while building what’s next.
And yes, showing up for yourself—not for approval, but for dignity, for joy, for you—that’s powerful. I’m so glad my blog could be even a small part of that journey. We’re all out here learning how to begin again, and I’m honored to walk beside you.
Sending you so much love as December approaches. You’re proof that starting over may not be easy—but it is possible. 💛
xo,
Good morning, Beth,
As I was reading your story it sounded to me that you were writing MY story. My 2nd husband of twenty years passed away 5 years ago and the heaviness was affecting my health and mood. My daughter, who lives in TX with her family decided to take some time off and help me re-start my life and redo my house (cabin in the AZ mountains). We took all the pictures down (SW ART). Since I’m German that style was not for me and needed to be removed. Already felt like I’m moving on and then hired a painter to paint the house and my “reading room” pink.
I love my pink room and gray/tan furniture. Like you I feel free and happy in that room and enjoy my wine and book or hallmark movie, whatever suits my fancy.
The new art pieces are soothing and peaceful. I love your fun and happy style too.
I’m now an octogenarian and dating is not in the picture for me but I do go out to lunch solo or with friends, I play Bunco and dance to Zumba songs and I truly love my life..
Do I get lonely from time to time, of course I do, I wouldn’t be normal and I cry at love stories too.
I do have one question as to why did you choose Georgia as your forever place? I chose AZ because I love the mountains and warm weather but with a little winter sprinkled into it. Wishing you a fabulous fall/winter.
I love that you asked! After raising our boys—and living overseas for many years—we knew it was time to finally plant roots. We wanted somewhere that felt vibrant but peaceful, with a strong sense of community. Athens checked every box: a charming college town with great energy, close to the mountains and the beach, and most importantly—close to our kids.
After years of moving around, it feels good to say, this is home.
Wishing you cozy days, good books, and plenty of joy in your pink reading room this season!
xo,
A beautiful post. My husbands death was 13 years ago yesterday the 27th after 30 years. I had a very emotional day yesterday. Time does heal all wounds but the ache is still there. I remarried 7 years ago but there are days the ache and loss is still there. Understand your grief and pain. God bless you. Love your new bedroom! I was sleeping on the coach for weeks after his death as I could no longer sleep in our bed. Ended up buying a new bedroom set and it helped, as I am sure redoing yours helped you. Have a great life!
Thank you for sharing such a tender piece of your heart. Thirteen years, and still—that ache never fully disappears, does it? I truly believe love leaves an imprint that time may soften but never erases. How beautiful that you found love again, while still honoring the one who came before. That takes strength and heart.
And yes, I completely understand the bedroom shift. Our shared spaces hold so much memory. Redoing mine was emotional, but also healing—like turning a page without closing the book.
Sending you love, understanding, and a deep bow of respect for your journey. 💛
xo,
Thank you for sharing. Love your post
Thank you for being here! I’m so glad the post resonated with you. Your support means more than you know. 💛
xo,
I remember your post when Mr. Style passed away. My heart broke for you, because the love you shared was evident in so many of your posts over the years.
My best friend lost her husband about the same time, and she, like you, is soldiering on and making a life with her great love.
I admire you both…and hope I have your courage and outlook if my husband passes before me.
This essay touched my heart…wishing you peace of mind and contentment.
And your bedroom is gorgeous!
Thank you so much for this beautiful message—it truly touched my heart. Losing Mr. Style cracked my world wide open, but hearing from readers like you reminds me that love doesn’t end, it simply shifts. Your words about your best friend gave me goosebumps—we’re all just learning how to keep going, carrying the love with us as we build something new.
And thank you for the kind words about the bedroom! It finally feels like mine—a place of peace, reflection, and yes, a little style too. 💛
Wishing you and your husband many more beautiful years together—and when the time comes, may you find the strength already within you.
xo,
A big typo……making a life WITHOUT her great love!!!!
Oh, I saw that—and my heart knew exactly what you meant. That little word without carries a whole world of grief, grit, and growth. And yes, that’s the truth of it: we’re not just surviving, we’re learning—sometimes painfully, sometimes beautifully—how to make a life without the person who once made it whole.
xo,
Beth – Thank you for sharing your journey of healing after loss. It’s very inspiring. At age 64, my foot got crushed in an accident and I couldn’t walk without assistance for 2 1/2 years. As a competitive bowler and active golfer, life changed in an instant. Nine years later I am still dealing with pain management while caring for my elder mother. It’s challenging and sometimes seems too daunting, but I look forward to the bright spots and push forward as gracefully as I can. No one was promised a rose garden. Like you, I fluff, redesign, reimagine and renew.
Wow—thank you for sharing such a powerful story. What you’ve walked through (and are still walking through) takes fierce strength and quiet grace. To go from an active athlete to navigating years of pain and caregiving? That’s a resilience many won’t ever understand.
And yet here you are—still fluffing, redesigning, and reimagining. That’s the very definition of grace under pressure. I’m so moved by your spirit, and I hope you keep finding those bright spots. You’re not alone—we’re pushing forward together, one beautifully imperfect step at a time. 💛
xo,
Thanks for discussing loss. I lost my husband April 2016 after 50 years of marriage. I dated until 2022 when I married at 78 years old. 39 men were not what I was looking for, 40 was the one. Loss is hard, but moving forward is good!😊
Now that’s a story worthy of its own rom-com! I love your spirit—and your honesty. 39 may have missed the mark, but number 40? That’s divine timing with a side of grit and grace.
You’re living proof that love, joy, and fresh starts don’t come with an expiration date. Thank you for sharing your journey—it’s inspiring, uplifting, and just what many of us need to hear. 💛
Here’s to second chances, strong hearts, and saying yes to life.
xo,
Beth,you are so strong and always beautiful.I admire you a lot.You are the inspiration for all of us.Keep going.We will follow you.We love you
Oh my—thank you! Your words are like a warm hug wrapped in encouragement. I don’t always feel strong, but hearing this reminds me why I keep showing up. We’re all walking this path together, and I’m so grateful for your support and love. 💛
More to come, I promise.
xo,
Thank-you Beth, This post was moving and beautiful. Hope your dy is good today.
Thank you—your kindness means so much. I’m so glad the post spoke to you. And yes, today’s a good day… made even better by thoughtful words like yours. 💛
xo,
What wonderful thoughts. Glad you are happy and enjoying your “new” home
Thank you so much! It’s been a journey getting here, but this “new” home feels like a true reflection of where I am now—grateful, grounded, and still evolving. I’m so glad you stopped by. 💛
xo,
These heartfelt, intelligent, gentle posts are so good. 💕
Thank you so much—that means the world to me. 💕 I try to write from the heart, and it’s a gift to know it resonates. Grateful to have thoughtful, gracious readers like you along for the ride.
xo,
I lost my husband last October and for the year that he was in Memory Care, the things that kept me sane were decorating my house and fashion. Now I’m off on a cruise alone. I think about him everyday but I love to dress up and meet people. He would want me to keep cruising.
Oh, I feel this so deeply. First—I’m so sorry for your loss. That kind of goodbye, especially after a long caregiving season, takes a strength few understand. But look at you—decorating, dressing up, and now cruising solo. That’s resilience with lipstick on.
I truly believe our loved ones would want us to keep going, keep living, and yes—keep cruising. You’re honoring him every time you choose joy. Wishing you calm seas, great outfits, and beautiful connections ahead. 💛
xo,
God bless you. Keep living your life even though it is hard some days to pick up your feet and move. Just remember God is with us always. Always.
Thank you for sharing the beautiful and personal story.
Our loved ones truly are a part of who we are and stay with us.
What a great room to wake up to in the mornings.
Thank you for taking the time to read and share such thoughtful words. You’re so right—our loved ones stay with us in ways big and small, woven into the fabric of our lives.
And yes, waking up in that room now feels like a deep breath and a fresh page. I’m grateful every morning. 💛
xo,
Beth, you and I were just about the same age when we lost our beloved husbands. I’m 10 years out now, and I’ve finally found personal joy again. I’m a “giver” by nature, so I initially filled my days being the best teacher, daughter, and mother ever. After I retired, I continued finding purpose for my days by volunteering with the W Connection, a nonprofit where “widows help widows rebuild our lives”. It’s been a healing AND empowering experience to interact with so many resilient women from all walks of life. We truly are “girlfriends who get it”.
This past January, I was blessed to meet a wonderful man and to begin a relationship with him. Having someone who’s curious about my day once again took some getting used to after 10 years, but it’s lovely being loved again.
Oh, this gave me chills—in the best way. Ten years out and finding joy again is no small thing. I feel every word of what you shared. Givers like us often throw ourselves into caring for everyone else, which makes rediscovering joy for ourselves both a revelation and a revolution.
I love what you’re doing with the W Connection—“girlfriends who get it” is exactly right. What a gift you are to that community. And as for your January surprise? Well, how wonderful! Being seen and cherished again—yes, it takes some getting used to, but isn’t it beautiful when life circles back with love in tow? Thank you for sharing your story—it’s hopeful, powerful, and exactly what I needed to hear today. 💛
xo,
Beth, this is another one of your blogs that should be printed and reread from time to time. Loss hits so deeply and the pain is physical but, we need to just keep moving. For me, routine helps so much. I make my bed every day, put makeup on every day, walk around my yard every day…you get the idea. Your new bedroom design is gorgeous and it certainly looks like your personal choices and touches are everywhere. It was time. We don’t want to wait to do those things that make us happy, we may run out of time. You are a treasure Beth! Thank you for your inspiration!
Thank you so much—your words are such a gift. You’re absolutely right: the pain is real and physical, but so is the strength it takes to keep going. And yes, routine can be a lifeline. There’s something deeply healing about making the bed, putting on lipstick, and walking through the yard like it’s your own little kingdom.
I agree—it was time. And you said it perfectly: we don’t want to wait to do the things that bring us joy. We’ve already learned how quickly life can change. Sending you love, gratitude, and a standing ovation for showing up each day with grace. 💛
xo,
Your description of grief is so accurate. At 76 years young, I have been a widow for 12 years. For whatever reason, I have missed my husband so much and just haven’t been able to figure it out. Guess I needed to be reminded of how grief works.
Twelve years is a long time to carry that kind of love—and that kind of loss. Thank you for sharing this. Grief has a way of circling back when we least expect it, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s a memory, a season, or just the quiet that brings it roaring back.
You don’t need to figure it out, my friend. Missing him is part of loving him. And you’re not alone in that ache. I’m sending you a warm hug and so much understanding from someone who gets it. 💛
xo,
Hi Beth,
Your bedroom looks so gorgeous, inviting and relaxing. It is now a reflection of you. Thank you for a heartfelt post. I remember when you posted about Mr Style’s passing. It is hard to believe that was 6 years ago. I admire your strength, beauty, courage and spunk! Your outfits inspire me. Classics with an edge! Keep posting your Style at a
Certain Age. I look forward to your ideas.
You just made my day—thank you! It is hard to believe it’s been six years. Some days it feels like yesterday, others like another lifetime entirely. Redefining that bedroom was emotional, but also empowering. And I love that you picked up on the “classics with an edge”—that’s exactly the vibe I’m going for these days (with a little spunk, of course). I’m so glad we’re walking this stylish road together.
More to come, I promise. 💛
xo,
Yes – Life is empty, yet full. A Wonderful article. But alas, I am an invalid (don’t drive) Just survive on a single pension. No funds nor physical strength to make changes. Unable to shop in stores. No children due to my husband health issues. We had been together since we were 17yrs old. 54 years of devotion to each other. He was my driver and my legs. Early this year, I spent nine weeks not hearing or seeing anyone. That’s when I realised that I am alone. No one to collect the mail. No one to get medical prescriptions filled. No one to take me to medical appointments or visit me in hospital. The little things I have achieved – I reorganised the walk-in wardrobe. Removed his clothes and shoes. Set it up as mine domain. Freed up his drawers to store seasonal clothes. That’s all I could do by myself.
Thank you for sharing your story—it stopped me in my tracks. 54 years of love and devotion is a legacy many never experience, and I can feel just how profound that loss is. I want to honor your honesty, your loneliness, and also your resilience. Clearing a wardrobe and making space for you is no small act. That’s reclaiming something quietly powerful.
You’ve been through so much, and still—you took that step. Please know, even in the silence, you are seen. You matter. And you are not forgotten. I hope this community offers even the smallest flicker of connection. Sending you strength and love from my heart to yours. 💛
xo,
🙂
Thank you for sharing.
You’re so welcome! I’m glad it resonated with you. Thanks for being here. 🙂
xo,
My Dear Beth, Thank you so much for the inspiring words & pictures. You are a gift to those of us who follow you. God Bless you and keep you. Sue
Thank you for such kind and generous words—they truly mean the world to me. I’m so grateful we’ve found this corner of the internet to connect, share, and inspire each other. Sending a big hug your way and wishing you blessings right back. 💛
xo,
My husband passed away two and a half years ago, & I am in the process of making our house into my home. I refreshed the living area last year. This year, I am working on the bedroom & the bathroom that he used all the time. You are right in that it is not about erasing him from my life. It is about finding out who I am now that I am not a caregiver. It is about finding out what I like now that I don’t have to consider anyone’s taste in food, decor or clothes. I was married for almost 47 years, so there is definitely sorrow, but I have also found freedom & serenity.
Thank you so much for sharing this—it resonates deeply. After decades of partnership, it’s no small thing to ask, “Who am I now?” Redefining your space isn’t about forgetting, it’s about reclaiming. Like you said so beautifully, it’s the shift from caregiving to self-tending. I’ve found the same thing—little by little, I’m learning what I like again, from the color of the sheets to what’s in my fridge.
There’s a quiet kind of courage in choosing serenity. I’m so glad you’re finding it. Keep going—your journey is sacred, and you’re not alone in it. 💛
God bless you. Keep showing up every day. Glad you are putting one foot in front of the other and doing things that bring you joy! I know it is hard, but time does heal all wounds and loss.
Your bedroom is beautiful and looks as fashionable as you are. When my husband died nine years ago, I bought a new mattress and bedding and had my whole house repainted. That made me feel as though I was reclaiming my space. I also bought a new couch and got rid of the one he had sat on so much before he was in a facility. Thank you for your words and your example.
Thank you so much for sharing that with me. I felt every word. Isn’t it something how reclaiming our space can be a powerful part of reclaiming ourselves? It’s not about erasing the past—it’s about honoring it while making room to keep living. I completely understand the emotional weight of a couch or a set of sheets. You created a sanctuary, and that takes strength. I’m honored my words resonated with you. Sending you love and admiration from one woman rebuilding to another. 💛
Beth, your post has, once again, moved me. Your journey from starting a new career, to starting a life much different than planned, is inspirational, heartbreaking at times, but also so heartwarming. I hope I have half your grace and beauty when I face this journey in my life.
Your comment truly touched me—thank you. None of this was the life I planned, but it is the life I’ve chosen to keep showing up for, one step (and one stilettos-optional day) at a time. If and when you find yourself on a similar path, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to grieve, to grow, and to do it all in your own beautiful way. Grace isn’t about getting it right—it’s about staying open. And I have no doubt you’ll face whatever comes with all the strength and beauty already inside you. 💛
Beth, you have triumph to reach this point in your journey to heal and I’m sure your husband loved what you have discovered about yourself now. Lovely read and I raise a glass for your giving of yourself to others. Well appreciated.
Beth I just want to say what you wrote brought tears to my eyes especially when you talked about how Oscar was always there for you. You were also his constant because he was probably missing you husband as well.
Very well done.
I just love your bedroom with the beautiful accent colors. I think I now have to work on the clutter in mine.
Grief and grieving are inexplicable really, and so personal, yet what you wrote and how you wrote it (simply, gently, positively) resonates with me. Thank you for sharing something so personal in such a generous way.
Beth, this was a wonderful post. It seems you have adjusted extremely well, and it’s encouraging to read about.
Your bedroom that reflects you is just beautiful.
You are blessed with 3 sons, and daughter-in-laws and now a grandchild to surround you with family love, but even with that, when you have lost your partner, life is just not the same. My only examples, as I still have my wonderful husband, are a female cousin who lost her husband 8 years ago when she was 61, and my mother who lost her husband when she was 68. My cousin fills her life with travel and adventures, sometimes alone, but more often with friends and relatives. She has many of both. My mother went on to live to 102, so she had 33 years without my father! She threw herself into family, as I was just starting my family and gave her 2 of her 3 grandchildren which she doted on, and at the same time, she dated a gentleman from her hometown for 15 years until he died! Neither one of them sat idly by in grief.
I think women are so resilient and we have an easier time busying ourselves with interests and figuring out what to do. You are a prime example for all of us.
I’m so sorry for your loss Beth, but you are so vibrant and I’m so happy you have a blog because it’s a pleasure each day to read it! Keep on keepin’ on!
Thank you so much for your words of wisdom.
My husband died suddenly 17 years ago – he was only 60. The first few years without him were very hard, but then I decided I needed to make the most of my life.
The biggest step I took (8 yrs later) was selling the large home we’d live in for 25 years and downsize to a cute little place just perfect for me. It’s been very healing to make it the perfect home just for me, one room at a time.
Beth, this article is exactly what I’m going through. Some days are easier than others. I lost my husband last November 24, 2024. We were married almost 43 years. My son and daughter and 3 grandchildren live very close which helps tremendously.
Your bedroom is beautiful and I hope some day I can make my space too. I enjoy your emails and blogs. It definitely has given me more confidence on how to dress with style at that certain age!
Hi Beth – I remember the day you posted that you lost Mr. Style. I had been scanning my email for days, looking for your next post. You were silent for too many days. When I finally saw your email ‘Goodbye Mr. Style’, I gasped. You now knew what I knew. You see, I had lost the love of my life just 2 years earlier (it’s now been 8 years). Cancer. What an ugly word. Time marches on. I am still in our little condo but not much remains the same as it was 8 years ago. I, too, have made it my own. And I know he would love it and be proud of me. I am happy, proud of who I am. And grateful that I had 18 years with my wonderful man. Here’s to the future, both yours and mine. And all of the others out there who are not just serving, but thriving.