A SINGLE MOM. A WIDOW.

Two labels that don’t define me. Yes, my husband passed away, and by definition that makes me a “widow,” but that word carries assumptions that don’t reflect my reality.

Being a widow doesn’t mean I’m single and certainly not searching. It doesn’t mean I’m interested in someone else’s husband. Sometimes I notice the looks, the subtle distance, the unease. I find it both disrespectful and a little funny. To those women, I say this with kindness but also with truth: you don’t need to be afraid of me.

The truth is, I’m not after anyone because I already had my everything. Sean was my great love, the kind of love many people sadly never experience. And maybe that’s why some can’t understand me. Maybe it’s why fear creeps in: they can’t imagine a love so whole, so complete, that it leaves no hunger for anyone else.

Your husband is your love, and that’s beautiful. But for me, Sean was and always will be the love of my life. I’m still his wife and I always will be. That bond didn’t vanish the day he died. I don’t wear a sign asking for a partner. I wear two wedding rings: Sean’s, which he wore with so much pride, and mine, which he had engraved “love of my life” for me. My heart is full, even in grief.

And motherhood is where labels blur for me. “Single mom” holds many realities: sometimes it means raising kids without a dad beside you; sometimes it means co-parenting across two homes. In my case, their dad isn’t here physically—and, boy, do I need him—but I still feel like I’m parenting with him. Sean is in our choices: the kindness we practice, the boundaries we hold, the way we show up for each other. I ask, “How would he handle this?” and I try to do what would make him proud. That’s my compass.

A friend once told me, “Muy de suerte que consigas otro Sean”, you’d be very lucky to ever find another Sean. And perhaps life has its surprises. But no one will ever be Sean. I’m not searching. I had my Sean. And my love for him remains intact. Always.