Losing my husband changed me, of course.
It would be strange if it didn’t.
Love, loss, grief — they leave marks. But they don’t erase who you are.

What I don’t want is for this part of my life to define every future relationship.
I don’t want to be seen only through what I lost.
I don’t want my past to become a verdict on my ability to love again.

I’m not looking to replace anyone.
I’m not comparing.
And I’m not living in memories.

I carry respect for what I had — and space for what can still be built.

Being a widow taught me depth, patience, and emotional honesty.
It taught me how fragile life is, and how valuable connection truly becomes when you’ve known its absence.

I still want partnership.
I still want warmth, trust, laughter, shared plans.
I still believe in building something meaningful with a man who sees me as a woman — not a tragedy.

My past shaped me, but it doesn’t trap me.
It gave me clarity about what matters and what doesn’t.

I don’t need pity.
I don’t need fear.
I need openness.

Because love doesn’t end when loss happens.
It simply changes its form — and sometimes, it finds its way back.

And I’m open to that.