I was driving home from work, listening to an audiobook (as I normally do when my mom does not answer my call) and I heard something that made me pause the book to call my mom a second time to tell my her, "I'm sorry."

When someone loses a spouse, the world often responds with some obligatory condolences and then very quickly a shift to normal conversation again. Often, is not directly said, but the message is heard loud and clear: move on. I never wanted that to be the message I sent my mom and at times, it may have been. More than "move on" I believe some of my behaviors highlighted one very clear reality: I did not understand what she was going through, not really, not enough.

This is the fact I wish I knew sooner and I wish more people understood. Until you live through the death of a spouse, you do not understand what that grief is like. I called to tell my mom I was sorry I did not really understand just how difficult each moment of every single day could be for her. The book I was listening to helped me realize my mom's brain was processing so much all at once and she had a lot of "relearning" to do. This process was not easy. In fact, it is incredibly difficult and painful.

The Brain in Grief

Grief is not just emotional; it is neurological.

Research highlighted in The Grieving Brain by neuroscientist Mary‑Frances O’Connor explains that when we lose someone deeply bonded to us, the brain must reconcile two competing realities. Logically, we know our spouse has died. Neurologically, the brain still expects them to exist.

For years, sometimes decades, our brains build powerful neural maps around our partners. Their voice, their presence in the home, their role in our daily routines. They are part of how the brain predicts what will happen in the world. When they die, the brain cannot instantly update that map.

It was after having this explained to me while listening to the my audiobook that I realized: I miss my dad frequently and my mom misses him constantly.

My eyes filled with tears as I imagined how hard this must be for my mom. That day, I had gotten into my car and called my mom as I always do. When she did not answer I turned on my audiobook. When my dad was still alive I would speak to him each day as well. This was not because I had a set time specific for calling my dad. It was because my mom was always with my dad, so when I called her, he was usually on speaker as well. For the first several months after my dad passed away, my car rides home were a reminder of my dad's absence. Those drives home used to be the consistent time of the day that I would hear, "Hey, Kayla Girl!" I could predict the exact words before he spoke them. Now, when I called my mom I only got to speak to her. At first I would still hear the words in my brain, "Hey, Kayla Girl," before realizing I was not going to actually hear my dad's voice. My brain needed time to adjust to the fact that there would be no "Hey, Kayla Girl" waiting for me on the other end of the phone. There would be no quick check in with my dad about the weather, how my car was running, the latest Broncos game or simply a reminder how much he loves me and is proud of me (for literally anything I was currently up to). Adjusting to this new reality was really difficult for me.

This realization while listening to the book was the moment all the pieces fell together for me; It showed me the gravity of my mom's grief that I needed to be much more aware of and empathetic to. I had to adjust to a single part of my day. I had to adjust to a handful of losses: he would no walk me down the aisle at my wedding or hold my babies in his arms. He would not get the opportunity to really get to know my now husband. These are huge losses and I do not minimize them at all, for myself or anyone else. I just also realize that my mom has so many of the huge losses herself: she does not get to see her daughter being walked down the aisle by her dad. She no longer gets to enjoy being Grammie with Grampie. She also has to live each day for the rest of her life missing the person who was her constant for the past thirty-five years. It's the "big moments" along with the 86,400 seconds each day that her brain has to adjust to his absence. Any single second within the day is likely to remind her, he is not here because her brain's understanding of how the seconds unfold was very intricately mapped to my dad's presence.

The grieving brain is trying to understand the impossible. Our brains are incredible at making connections and mental shortcuts that simplify our lives. These shortcuts remind us of what to expect (i.e., the fresh pot of coffee he used to always make). After the death of a spouse all of those neural connections still exist and still fire.

This is why widows and widowers often describe experiences such as:

• Reaching for the phone to call them
• Expecting them to walk through the door
• Wondering if that is him when you hear the rumble of a truck outside
• Feeling waves of disbelief months after the loss

These are all are signs of a brain that has created neurological shortcuts mapped to the presence of your spouse. These are signs your brain is still in a process of learning a new reality. Understanding this, can really help in the grieving process. This information helps us replaces judgment with compassion, for others and for ourselves.

At Tomorrow’s Sunrise, our approach to supporting widows and widowers begins with a simple but powerful belief: to truly support someone in grief, we must first understand what their brain is experiencing.

Education as the First Step Toward Healing

One of the most powerful tools we offer widows and widowers is education about the grieving brain. When someone understands that their mind and body are responding to loss exactly as the brain is wired to respond, something important happens:

The pressure to “be further along” begins to lift. We help our members understand that grief is not something to “fix.” It is something the brain must slowly integrate. By normalizing the neurological experience of grief, widows and widowers gain language for what they are feeling and permission to care for themselves differently. As we educate our community members about the brain, we must also explain what is taking place in other parts of the body. Another book written by neuroscientist Mary‑Frances O’Connor, The Grieving Body, highlights the impact grief has on the body.

Why We Start With the Body

Another key part of our approach is recognizing that grief is not just processed cognitively. It is deeply embodied.

Early grief often brings:

• Nervous system dysregulation
• Sleep disruption
• Anxiety or panic
• Fatigue and brain fog
• Difficulty concentrating or processing information

In moments of grief, specifically early on, cognitive strategies alone can feel inaccessible to the individual grieving. That’s why we often encourage our community to begin with body-focused approaches designed to help regulate the nervous system.

These can include:

• Breathwork
• Gentle movement
• Grounding practices
• Nervous system regulation exercises
• Time in nature

These practices help move the body out of survival mode and create the conditions where the brain can begin to process grief more clearly. When the nervous system is calmer, emotional and cognitive processing become more possible.

From Survival to Integration

Over time, widows and widowers often find that as their nervous system stabilizes, they gain greater capacity to:

• Reflect on their relationship
• Process memories and emotions
• Rebuild identity and purpose
• Create a life that still honors their love

This process is not about “moving on.” It demonstrates the brain's ability to continue learning and integrating new information. Your brain is learning how to carry love and loss at the same time.

Why Community Matters

Another critical element in healing is connection. Spousal loss is one of the most isolating human experiences. Many widows and widowers feel that others, even caring friends and family, cannot fully understand what they are going through. Largely, they are correct in this assumption. As I highlighted earlier, although I very much grieve the passing of my dad, my experience is quite different than that of my mom's experience. I can now intellectually understand better than I could prior to reading (or listening) to the two books mentioned. I still, however, will be lacking in the lived experience of a widow unless I become one myself one day.

At Tomorrow’s Sunrise, we bring together education, professional guidance, and community support so that no one has to navigate this journey alone. We appreciate the value someone like myself or other professionals can bring in terms of education and resources. We also appreciate the necessity of bringing widows and widowers together in community so that connection with others with similar lived experiences is accessible.

When widows and widowers understand their brain, regulate their nervous system, and connect with others who truly understand their experience, something powerful happens:

Hope becomes possible again.

A Different Way Forward

Grief will always be part of the story when someone loses the person they built their life with. This does not mean anyone should have to walk this journey with little to no support, as so many are currently doing.

At Tomorrow’s Sunrise, we believe that when we start with understanding the brain, honor the body’s response to loss, and surround widows and widowers with compassionate support and community, we create the space for healing, meaning, and eventually, even after profound loss, another bright sunrise.

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