Life Update: Fully Embracing The Unexpected

It’s been several months since I last shared an update here, and honestly, I wasn’t sure when or if I’d be ready to write about everything that’s happened. But sitting in my relatively new home this evening, reflecting on how dramatically our lives have changed, I felt compelled to share this chapter with those who’ve followed our journey up to this point.

When Catherine was diagnosed with stage-four brain cancer, I entered a world I never knew existed… My therapist called it “anticipatory grief.” For two straight years, I lived in a constant state of fear, stress, and emotional preparation while simultaneously fighting for her life. Sleep was a rare commodity. I’d lie awake at night thinking about her medication schedule, researching alternative treatments and therapies at 2 AM, and mentally rehearsing conversations I hoped I’d never have to have with our children. The anxiety was physical, like a constant tension in my body that still hasn’t completely disappeared.

I questioned every decision I made. Even while desperately trying to stay present, unwanted thoughts would intrude, often when I was trying to rest and relax, leading me to find ways to keep my mind occupied. I would dive into my work, tackle tactical healthcare-related tasks, or engage in activities like writing to you all.

The reality that my 33-year-old wife might not see her 34th birthday wasn’t something my brain was prepared to process. We had mortgages, college savings accounts, and plans that assumed we’d grow old together.

After Cat passed, the immediate fog of early grief eventually gave way to practical questions I’d never anticipated at 36. The thought of dating felt intimidating and impossible. I’d often ask myself and my friends if I was “damaged goods.” I mean, who wants to date a widower with three young kids? Facebook discussion groups and podcasts would lead you to believe that in today’s modern dating landscape, I was the equivalent of Quasimodo with a slightly better build. I spent a lot of cycles wondering if I’d ever find anything real again in my lifetime. I wasn’t ready to shut myself off from the possibility of connection. But at 37, I was no longer the same person I was at 23 when Cat and I met. Grief changes you. My interests, perspectives, and needs have evolved. I wondered if there would ever even be someone who could connect with the person I am now.

Additionally, dating apps didn’t exist when Cat and I met at 22. The thought of creating a Bumble or Hinge profile and trying to explain my situation in a bio felt overwhelming. Do I mention that I’m a widower in my dating profile, or would that instantly disqualify me from most potential matches? Do I answer questions about it, or deflect and change the subject? Am I now limited to dating only other widows from here on? There were so many thoughts constantly circulating through my mind.

When Cat and I started dating, we were broke young single parents, taking the bus to work from time to time, eating spaghetti and ramen more than I care to admit. Now, with an established career and financial stability, I worried about navigating an environment where I couldn’t tell if someone was genuinely interested in me or simply what kind of lifestyle I could provide them; again, social media will lead you to believe that nothing real exists anymore — It’s all about “high-value” this and “broke men” that. It was terrifying at first.

Most importantly, I worried about my kids. Would they feel like I was trying to replace their mom? I’ve always been direct with my boys about difficult topics, so when I first mentioned the possibility of dating, their responses floored me. Their responses were consistent: They all said they just wanted me to be happy. Christopher asked several practical questions about how it’d all work and whether he’d get paid for babysitting his little brother when I went on dates. DeAngelo just kinda laughed and said that he’d already had a hypothetical conversation with my mom about it prior to my conversation with him, and that he didn’t care at all about it. I did promise them that I would never introduce anyone into the picture that I didn’t feel had the potential to be something long-term. I pretty much left it alone with Ollie, since he was so young. I didn’t want to confuse him.

Then there were Cat’s parents. They’ve been like second parents to me, and the idea of telling them I was dating felt like I could potentially be hurting them all over again. I’d thought about that conversation probably one hundred times in my head before finally having it. In their characteristic grace, they responded with nothing but love, understanding, and support.

Her father told me they’d always known this day would come as part of the “natural progression of life” and that I deserve happiness. Her mother told me that she loves me and supports my decisions, and that she just wanted me to find someone who would treat me well and be a woman of faith. Their grace lifted a weight I didn’t know I was carrying, giving me the courage I needed to keep moving forward.

In March, I had one of the most transformative experiences of my life: a trip to Prague with several of my closest friends from different chapters of my life. Eight days wandering ancient streets, sharing meals that lasted for hours, dancing and singing karaoke until the crack of dawn, laughing until our sides hurt, and having conversations that covered almost every topic that you could imagine.

For as spontaneous and incredible as the trip was, it was about reclaiming something I thought might be lost forever. My smile returned in those streets. My laugh echoed through Prague in ways it hadn’t since before Cat got sick. I felt a kind of fullness I’d forgotten existed. It was there that I truly understood I wasn’t just surviving anymore, I was ready to create new memories, pursue inner peace, and embrace happiness without guilt.

This was the most incredible and outside-of-the-box thing I’d ever done in my entire life, and I already can’t wait to do it again next year.

The crazy thing about life is how it unfolds when you’re not making specific plans for it. Back in December, I had met someone completely incidentally with zero expectations of starting any serious relationship. I wasn’t looking to date anyone when I met her. I was focused on moving forward with the kids and finding our new normal. But there she was… this strikingly beautiful, tall, 5’11” woman with a smile that lights up her entire face, and we’d struck up a funny conversation about karaoke, of all things.

That conversation led to others, which eventually gave me the courage to ask her to dinner.

I’ve learned that you’d be doing yourself a disservice by walking away from something that could potentially make you truly happy just because of some arbitrary timeline that people try to establish around grief. When we went to dinner for the first time, what was supposed to be a quick meal turned into an eight-hour marathon of conversation, laughter, and great chemistry. We closed down the restaurant and kept talking for hours, moving from a cocktail bar until closing, to sitting in my car in the parking lot, talking and laughing until the sun pretty much started to come up. When we finally shared that first kiss at the end of the date, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long while… that mix of excitement and comfort that happens when something fits.

What continues to surprise me is how naturally she’s integrated into our lives. She’s a chemist by trade with a biology degree, which has led to many interesting conversations about things that I’m genuinely curious to continue learning about. She matches my energy and sarcasm step for step, and instantly got along with my very protective family and friends. Most importantly, she respects Cat’s place in our lives and understands that loving someone new doesn’t erase loving someone before.

Although we live an hour apart, we still talk for hours almost every night, even after seven months of dating. She’s become someone I can share both the funniest jokes and heaviest thoughts with. When she met my kids for the first time a few months ago, watching them connect with her in different ways was beautiful. Especially seeing Ollie bond with her, not wanting her to leave, and asking how soon she’d return, felt like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know was being assembled.

In June, we took our first trip together, spending a week in Barcelona. Exploring a new city with someone who shares my love for good food, culture, and adventure felt great. We wandered through various shops and markets, stood in awe as we looked up at the amazing Sagrada Familia, got lost on the subway, laughed hysterically, cracking jokes and creating memories that already feel like they’ve been part of my life much longer than they actually have.

What I value most about our relationship is the peace she’s brought to my life. After years of medical crises, sleepless nights, and constant worry, finding someone who adds calm rather than chaos feels like a gift I didn’t know I needed.

The Spring also brought the bittersweet decision to sell our home in Harrisburg and move into a neighborhood in close proximity to Downtown Charlotte. That house held so many beautiful memories with Cat, but it also held the weight of her illness and death. The boys and I needed a fresh start, a place where we could create new traditions without the constant echo of loss all around us.

I truly love our new home. The process of decorating it and making it truly ours has been healing in unexpected ways. Living in the city means we’re closer to friends, activities, and experiences we all enjoy. The kids have adapted beautifully to our new neighborhood and are looking forward to starting at their new schools this fall. We’ve also found rhythms that feel right for this version of our family.

Another major development happened just within the past few weeks — I fulfilled a longtime dream by putting a deposit down on a 2/2 condo in Panama City, Panama. Ever since first visiting Panama, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of owning a home there, primarily for investment purposes and as a vacation home for us in the near term since tourism is booming there now and projected to grow substantially over the coming years (and I have kids to raise and get off to college), but also because there is an incredible ex-pat community that has settled down there and love it. I’ve had the opportunity to meet many from the US, UK, and Canada while down there, and they’ve nothing but amazing things to say about their experiences. I even have a former neighbor who just moved there with his wife and tells me about how much he loves living there as well. I’d love to relocate there in retirement one day!

The project is currently under development and is expected to be completed in Q2 2027. It sits right on the Pacific Ocean in Marbella, one of the city’s best neighborhoods, surrounded by shops and restaurants along Avenida Balboa, which features a mile-long walkway stretching from one end of the city to the other along the coastline. Tons of rooftop bars and restaurants, fish markets, etc. Beaches and jungles are just a short drive away. Year-round 80-degree weather and no hurricanes.

The building will feature a rooftop mini golf course, bowling alley, movie theater, coworking space, full gym, rooftop pool, arcade, sauna, steam room, and more. My unit will feature a large balcony with beautiful city views, a sliver of ocean view, and floor-to-ceiling windows in every room. Once completed, it will be offered for short-term rental on Airbnb, allowing others to enjoy it when I’m not using it myself with my friends and family.

Throughout this journey, I’ve been aware that some people have opinions about how quickly I’ve decided to continue moving forward. Several people have messaged me saying, “Don’t worry about the haters,” as if they are hearing things I am not, though I haven’t experienced much direct criticism. Still, I’d be lying if I said others’ perceptions didn’t matter at all…they do register to some degree.

But I’ve realized that if my choice to find happiness somehow bothers someone, that’s not my problem to solve. If me waking up every morning and choosing joy is an issue for anyone, they probably need to look in the mirror and ask why my happiness affects them. Until you’ve sat in a hospice room at 36 years old, watching your 33-year-old spouse take their final breaths, you can’t possibly fully understand this path.

If you had shown me the script for my life five years ago, I would have handed it back and said, “Try again.” I never imagined becoming a widower at 36. I never planned on raising three boys alone. I never expected to be dating in my late 30s or falling for someone again so soon. But here we are. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that we don’t control how much time we get. Cat should have had decades more. She should be here watching the boys grow up and sharing in all these moments.

What I can control is what I do with the time I have left. I can choose to shut down or remain open. I can focus on what was lost or on what remains. I can live in fear of more pain or in hope of more joy. I’m choosing to move forward, not away from her memory, but carrying it with me into whatever comes next. I’m grateful for the love I had with her, the love I share with my children, and the unexpected love I’ve found again. Life rarely goes according to plan, but even in its most difficult chapters, it can still surprise you with moments of extraordinary beauty.

We have limited control over how long we have on this earth, so it’s our responsibility to embrace it fully and make the most of every day. I’m doing exactly that, and I’m grateful to have the opportunity to keep moving forward with an abundance of love in my life.

Talk soon,
Walt