The Inevitable Question We All Face
All of us who have a life partner face the prospect of losing them to death at some point, or them losing us.
Retired couples, being older, likely think about this much more than younger couples.
The likelihood of losing a partner to death becomes greater the longer you live.
I’ve thought about what my life might be like if I lost my wife.
At this point, we’ve been married for over 53 years and are intertwined. She’s the most important person in my life; for years, she’s my best friend and lover.
I’ve wondered how I would handle it if I lost her.
I think I fear losing her more than losing myself. It would be devastating.
I recognize that I’d need to move on with my life, but I also think there would always be a part of me connected to my friend and lover.
Keeping Deceased Loved Ones Close
I recently read a newsletter by Paul Loomans that resonated deeply with me.
It spoke to my concerns for myself and also explained behaviors I’ve seen in other people who have lost their partner.
In his article, he describes Alex Warren’s song “Save You a Seat,” in which Warren recounts the comfort he finds in keeping loved ones (his parents) close after their death.
Loomans then applies this to his own situation.
Apparently, he lost his prior wife and his parents, and he describes how he honors them through small lit rituals and keeping some of their belongings.
He has also let go of and repurposed some of their items, and that’s become a gentle healing process as well.
Living “With” and “Without”
At the end of his newsletter (but unfortunately not the version published on the web), Loomans uses simple terms to encapsulate the ways to keep loved ones close after death:
“It’s very subtle whether you live with or without the deceased. “Without” means you often think and feel that this person is no longer there. “With” means you can feel the love between you and the deceased as a living, ever-present energy.”
That’s an amazing and insightful distinction. When we lose someone close to us, there are ways we can be “without” them, and ways we can be “with” them.
I’ve known retirees who have lost a longtime partner and have exhibited both of these behaviors.
My brother-in-law still can’t clean out his deceased wife’s possessions after more than two years. He goes into a room and sees her things there that have been left the way they were at the time that she died. He often talks about how frequently he thinks about her and misses her. That’s the “without.”
But he also talks a lot about how he still loves her and is looking forward to being with her in heaven. That’s the “with.”
I think that’s how it would be for me as well.
I’d think a lot about how she’s not there any longer, but I also think I’d have the sense that we’re still connected because even though she’s gone, I’d still love her.
Living Well With Love and Loss
So how do we deal with this awareness of coming or present loss in our lives?
1. Practicing Gratitude Before Loss
If you’re still together, it’s essential to acknowledge and face up to the reality that death and separation are coming.
That acknowledgement prompts you to think about how you’d feel if your spouse were no longer with you.
Ancient Stoic philosophers called that practice “negative visualization.” They taught us to visualize the loss of the things and people we most value, and we’d respond with gratitude for the time we have together.
Instead of taking that person for granted, you value them and savor their presence even more.
2. After Death, Love Doesn’t Disappear
If you’ve already been separated by death, you can be thankful for time together, but you can also acknowledge the loss.
As you move forward with your life, you can honor your love and relationship by embracing both the “with” and the “without” moments.
Love Changes Shape
Loving someone means accepting that nothing about it is permanent—except the love itself.
While we’re still together, we can notice and value the ordinary moments, treat them less casually, and enjoy them with awareness. And if we’re already separated by death, we can allow both the ache of absence and the warmth of connection to coexist.
Love doesn’t vanish when someone is gone; it changes its shape, and we learn—slowly, imperfectly—how to live alongside it.
AI Note: I wrote this blog post myself, using my own words and thoughts for the initial draft. I used AI only to suggest headlines, section headings, images, and text improvements.
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