My name is Kathy Scheffler and I am blessed to be the Executive Director of Widow Might.
On this page I share my thoughts with you. As a widow, it is my prayer that you will see yourself in these words and know that you are not the only one who feels this way.
Read Kathy’s bio
March 2026
Every 2 years I spend 2 weeks mesmerized by Olympic athletes. The dedication and years of hard work to receive the privilege to compete at the games representing their country is mindboggling to me. Last week I learned of a perk of being a host country. Did you know that they get to add new one-time sports (with International Olympic Committee approval of course) while the games are in their country? The Milan-Cortina 2026 winter games added ski mountaineering, which is also called skimo. It starts with skiing uphill (with skins covering the skis to grip the snow), then midway up the mountain they remove the skis (placing them on their back) to ascend stairs, only to put the skis back on (with the skins removed) to ski downhill through a series of gates to the finish. It’s a frenzy of activity, especially at each transition point, making this less than 3-minute race exhilarating to watch. Just observing the competition made my quads burn and my lungs gasp for oxygen.
This left me wondering, why would anyone voluntarily do this?
My curiosity was piqued so I did some research into the sport. I learned that skimo competitions typically last 2-hours but were condensed for the Olympics. The races I’d observed were just highlight reels of what is an endurance sport right up there with marathons! No, thank you! But then I learned that skimo started as a way to reach pristine places in nature that were otherwise inaccessible. Now I’m intrigued.
What if I could skimo at my own pace? Would this be enjoyable then? I began to envision mountaintop viewpoints that would otherwise be unreachable. Would the anticipation of those awe-inspiring views be enough to keep me going? Sure, there would be moments where it would be pure drudgery trying to reach the summit but it could make me stronger and appreciate the destination all the more. What unexpected things might I experience along the way? The overlooks and features along my route that would make me stop and realize the beauty in the journey.
I often refer to my path in widowhood, where I went from living and healing to growing and thriving, as my grief journey. It was a hard climb out of the depths of the valley of initial grief after my husband died, but I did it because I wanted life to be good again. I needed it to return to being full and vibrant. I needed my life to be worth living. At forty-two, I had a lot of living left to do.
The climb was tentative at first. I felt like I was forever slipping backwards not making any progress. But that simply wasn’t true. I was climbing. I was becoming stronger. I was learning from others who had traveled this path before me. I was finding those who I could depend on to walk beside me at my pace, not rushing me through the grief.
At various points over those first years I would pause from my scramble, look back, and realize how far I had come. I would stare over the depths of where I’d been, noticing the particularly rugged places and think to myself, “how did I get through that?” The glaringly obvious “that” of Russ’ birthday, our wedding anniversary, and the months when the 13th fell on a Friday just like the day he died. The “it’s not fair that” of home and auto repairs that now fell completely on me to take care of. The “really, you left me to deal with that” of his technological toys that I didn’t understand and wanted nothing to do with. But what choice did I have? I wanted to go on living life to the fullest, so I had to climb through the “that’s”.
Now, years later, I am appreciating that as long as I am living, the ascent will never be over. There will always be transition points that stir up a flurry of grief. Recently it was entering a new chapter of life for me. It was a stage I wanted to begin, but it still wasn’t how “we” planned it would be and I needed to grieve that. So yes, there are days when I still lose my footing, but I am now quicker to regain it. As I navigate each difficult patch, I learn how to plot a better course through the next one.
I’ve seen that the hard work of the climb is worth it. There are still summits ahead but I also see those behind me that I’ve already conquered. Best of all, I have seen the splendid beauty and felt the vast joy of traversing through new environments.
As you struggle out of your own valley of grief let me leave you with these Bible verses:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11
And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. – Hebrews 12:1b-2a
The climb will not be easy, but the rewards are great. If you doubt that, take some time today and look back at how far you have come. I’m on the slopes beside you cheering you on!
(pdf of the 02/28/26 Newsletter)
February 2026
Ah February, the month of love, can we just skip over this month please? I know it’s the shortest month of the year, but that day smack dab in the middle fills the first half of the month with an extra dose of loneliness now that I am no longer half of a couple. Red and pink hearts fill the shelves from top to bottom with every gift of love imaginable in every store. Do I really need this constant unavoidable reminder of the love that I have lost?
I remember the days of young new love that were marked with boxes of chocolates, flowers, and perhaps even jewelry as the relationship became more serious. Early on in my marriage, my husband Russ presented me with 25 roses smashed together in a cellophane sleeve purchased from Costco. This gigantic bunch of flowers was his way of saying the more the better; why would you settle for a dozen when you can get 25 at an even better price. He then left me to figure out how to arrange them in anything resembling vases pulled from dark, dusty, back corners of cabinets and closets from throughout the house. A florist I am not, so they resembled the fistful of dandelions I plucked from the front yard as a child and shoved in a dixie-cup, rather than any sort of carefully curated compositions.
How I longed for Russ to be impractical and just call a florist and have a beautiful arrangement delivered to my office. I wanted to get that phone call from the front desk that there was something left for me that I needed to come and retrieve. To make that trek down to the first floor, to see the parcel for me containing flowers carefully arranged with baby’s-breath, and then to carry it close to my chest all the way back to my cubical while inhaling deeply of their sweet scent. I would then display them prominently on my desk, and wait for everyone to ooh and aah over them. I imagined that the love I felt for my husband would be evident for all to see in my radiating smile. If I’m being honest, I think I secretly wanted my co-workers to be a little jealous as I had been so many times when they had received such a delivery. I wanted the world, or at least everyone within the scent of the blooms, to know I had the best husband in the world. I wanted there to be no question in their minds, or mine, of how special I was, of how much I was loved.
Now don’t get me wrong, I truly appreciated and felt Russ’ love in every one of those 25 Costco roses, especially knowing that many wives would receive none from their husbands. Russ was always great at remembering special days with cards and presents; the bigger the better was often his motto. But I am not sure he ever realized that a small, meaningfully chosen gift might mean more to me than several large ones grabbed off a store shelf at the last moment. Such a gift might have given me what I needed most, confirmation that he was choosing to love me especially when I didn’t feel particularly lovable.
Today as I think about Valentine’s Day approaching, I would be overjoyed to receive any token of love from Russ. But more than any gift, a great big bear hug, signifying that I am the chosen recipient of his love, would mean the world to me. I treasured being the one that he wanted to love in sickness and health until death did us part. The blessing of being able to fulfill our marriage vows is not lost on me, but when his life ended, that created a void. I needed to mourn the loss of the cherished love of a husband, but I also needed to remember I was still loved deeply. There is One who always has and forever will love me with an unconditional love unlike anything I can comprehend.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.” – Jeremiah 31:3
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” – Romans 8:38-39
I will always long for imperfect love, like what I knew with Russ, but I must never forget that I will always and forever know an even greater love. As we go into this month of February, I pray that you know how deeply you are loved by God. He not only loves you in the most perfect way, but He also blessed you for a time with the love of your husband.
(pdf of the 01/29/26 Newsletter)
December 2025
“Whew, I made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas, but wait why am I struggling with New Year’s Eve? This is unexpected!” As a widow, I anticipated that the major holidays would be tough that first year without Russ, but New Year’s Eve was a non-holiday for us. It was simply an evening snuggled in at home while temps outside dipped to subzero digits. With the work for the day completed, our festivities would begin by late afternoon. By 5pm it would be dark outside, so adorned in our finest comfy fleece attire, we would prepare our favorite comfort foods and polish off the last of the Christmas goodies, before any vows were made to eat healthier in the new year. The grazing would continue all evening while the two of us watched a movie, but we would be sure to pause it to catch the ball drop in New York City at 11pm (yes, being in a different time zone than the East Coast has its benefits). We often found ourselves tucked into bed exchanging a New Year’s kiss well before midnight.
So, what was it about this first New Year’s Eve without him that had me feeling unsettled? Russ had died on January 13th, so maybe it was the anticipation of the approaching first anniversary of his death hitting me. I had learned that the days leading up to a big day can be harder than the actual day itself, but it didn’t feel like that was quite it. It actually took me a few days into January to figure it out, but when I finally did it made complete sense. In the year that had just ended I had 13 days of memories with him, but now within this new year I would have no memories with him. I would look back upon this new year that was just beginning and remember many things that happened, hopefully things that would bring me much joy, but Russ would not be a part of any of them. This hurt at a deep soul level. There would be no pictures of him, no stories to share about him, no inside jokes just between the two of us that we would instantly recall simply by a look on each other’s faces. Time was undeniably moving forward and I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for what would be many little life events without him. This threshold of a new year was one I found myself not going over without a fight; my heals firmly dug in, resisting it with every ounce of my being, even though the calendar had already turned over. But as is grief’s way, once I knew why I felt this way, it became easier to accept and by the latter half of January I was ready to embrace the possibilities of a new year. Grief continued to be my companion, but I was also able to find moments of joy in the new memories I was making that first new year.
Time has a way of pulling you forward and that is a good thing, but it’s also good to stop and mourn what is not as it should be, even years after the death of your husband. I pray that if you are struggling to move into 2026 this has brought some clarity to why you also might feel as I did. If you are ready to fully embrace 2026 and all its possibilities, I rejoice with you. And if you are somewhere in between, it’s perfectly normal to hold both the pain and the potential at the same time. No matter where you find yourself on the widowhood journey, all of us at Widow Might are honored that you have allowed us to walk alongside you.
