Episode 24: The Price Of Widowhood

When we think about grief we think about heartbreak. We don't think about the financial reality that comes with it.

In this episode I share the hidden costs of widowhood, from managing household bills alone, to navigating life insurance.

As my Bereavement Support Payment comes to an end this month, I also discuss the support currently available to bereaved families in the UK, why many believe it falls short, and the campaign calling for change.

https://www.gov.uk/bereavement-support-payment

https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/752501

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Transcript

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Hello and welcome back to the Early Morning Coffee Club, the podcast where grief is intense, humour is finally ground, and strength sneaks up on you like a double shot. Before I get into today's episode, how are we all doing this week? I definitely need my coffee today. After making the most of the sunshine and escaping to the coast with Oscar for a little camping trip this weekend, I'm still recovering from the lack of sleep. Croyd, in North Devon, it'll always hold a special place in my heart. Alex introduced me to his favourite beach here shortly after we first met, and it's where he taught me to surf. It was also the first place I wanted to bring Oscar camping after Alex died. We came last year, just the two of us, and this weekend we returned. And I couldn't help comparing the two trips. Last year it had been only a few months since Alex died, and I was terrified of what the future held for us. Everything felt uncertain. But this time felt different. There was actually hope, there was laughter, and I was actually genuinely happy. Driving home, I found myself wishing I could go back and tell that version of me from a year ago, you're gonna be okay. It won't always feel this heavy. And while we were there, Oscar and I got chatting to this lovely couple who were camping next to us. They asked me if I'd been to Croyd before. Oh yeah, I said, I've been loads of times. My husband came here a lot when he was younger. This is where he first brought me. Then the lady smiled and asked, Didn't your husband want to join you and your son this time? For a second I paused. Um he would have loved nothing more, I said. But sadly he died. Her face immediately changed. Oh I'm so sorry. And then, without missing a beat, Oscar casually chimed in. Yeah, my daddy's died. It was said so matter of factly, no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the honest truth. And in that moment I couldn't have been prouder of him. He spoke about something that so many adults are afraid to even mention. He wasn't trying to be brave, he was simply telling his story, and somehow that quiet honesty felt braver than anything else I'd ever heard. And so with that, today I'm going to talk about something else that doesn't really get spoken about nearly enough when it comes to grief money. Because when people think about widowhood, they think about heartbreak, the sadness, the loneliness, the grief. And what they don't always think about is the spreadsheets, the direct debits, the bills, the panic when you realize you're now responsible for absolutely everything. And somehow you're expected to navigate all of that while your entire world has fallen apart. Let's start with something that can feel a little uncomfortable to talk about. The spending. Because grief can do weird things to your relationship with money, and for me, there were periods where I spent money searching for joy. Not in a reckless and maxing out credit cards kind of way. More in a maybe this holiday will help, maybe this experience will help, maybe if Oscar and I make enough happy memories it will hurt less, kind of way. And every time I bought something, there was a little voice in my head saying, Should you really be spending that? What if you need that money later? What if you're being irresponsible? What if people think you're enjoying yourself too much? Which is a bizarre thing really, because when you're grieving, people want you to be okay. But sometimes the moment you do something that resembles living, you feel guilty for it. I think a lot of widows and widowers experience this. The guilt of spending money, the guilt of booking the trip, the guilt of buying something nice, the guilt of creating moments of happiness, as though your grief should somehow cancel your right to enjoy anything like that ever again. But here's what I've learned. You can miss someone desperately and still take your child to the zoo. You can be heartbroken and still book a holiday. You can be grieving and still search for moments of joy because the two things can exist together. Something else grief has taught me, whether I wanted to learn it or not, is that life is unbelievably short. Before Alex died, I'd probably have talked myself out of buying something with we'll do it next year. We'll save for it. We've got loads of time for that. Now I don't think like that anymore. I'm still sensible kind of. But if there's something that will genuinely bring joy to mine in Oscar's lives, I'm much more likely to say yes. Because I've learned the hard way that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Experiences matter, memories matter, time together matters, and while money is important, it's only valuable because of what it allows us to do with the people we love. Now let's talk about life insurance. Because people hear life insurance pay out and often imagine you've won some sort of horrible lottery. As though suddenly all financial worries disappear. The truth is actually much more complicated. Yes, I was incredibly grateful for the life insurance. It provided security at a time when everything felt uncertain. And I know not everyone gets that safety net. While the life insurance money arrived, I thought I'd feel relieved, but instead I felt sick. That money just sat there in my bank account for months. I could barely look at it. Because every time I opened my banking app, all I could think was those numbers represent Alex's life. And it's such a strange feeling. People see a figure, you see a husband, a future, the years you were supposed to have together. It never felt like money, it felt like the price attached to everything we'd lost. And that's a really difficult thing to make peace with. But here's the thing to remember. Life insurance isn't replacing a person, it's replacing an income, or at least trying to, and that is a very different thing. Because the bills don't get cut in half when someone dies, the childcare doesn't suddenly become cheaper, the council tax still arrives, the food shop still needs doing, your child still needs clothes, shoes, school trips, and everything else that comes with growing up. In fact, some things become more expensive because there's nobody to share the load with anymore. Nobody to split responsibilities, nobody to pick up an extra shift, nobody to cover when childcare falls through. Nobody to absorb the financial shocks that life inevitably throws at you. What people don't always realize is that losing a partner can mean losing decades of future earnings. Decades. Not months, not years, decades. And that's why I want to talk about something very important. The support available for widowed families in the UK. At the moment, many bereaved spouses and partners may be eligible for bereavement support payment. For those with dependent children, that's currently a lump sum payment followed by monthly payments for up to 18 months. After 18 months, it stops. And while any support is appreciated, the reality is that grief doesn't end after 18 months. And neither do the bills, neither does single parenting. Neither does the financial impact of losing a partner. Before 2017, many bereaved parents could receive widows' parents' allowance until their child was no longer eligible for child benefit. Today many families receive support for just 18 months instead. And that's why there's a growing campaign for change. There's a petition asking the government to increase bereavement support payment and extend it beyond the current 18 month limit. Because the financial impact of widowhood doesn't disappear after a year and a half. If anything, for many families like mine, that's when reality really starts to sink in. And this month is another milestone I wasn't really looking forward to. It's the last month I'll receive my bereavement support payment. That £350 arriving each month has never made me feel rich, but it has been a reminder that someone, somewhere, recognise that losing your partner has financial consequences. And next month that stops. The bills won't, Oscar won't suddenly need less, life won't become cheaper. I'll simply be expected to carry on. And of course I will, because that's what widowed parents do. We carry on. But it does make you realise how quickly the support disappears while the reality of widowhood remains. Widowhood isn't a short-term crisis. It's a lifelong change. And many people feel the support system simply doesn't reflect that reality. If this is something you care about, I'll put the petition details in the episode description so you can read more and decide for yourself. Because whether you're widowed or not, this is something that affects thousands of families every year. Oscar Money is a funny thing. People spend so much of their lives chasing it, worrying about it, saving it, wishing they had more of it. And I understand why. Money gives us security, it puts food on the table, keeps a roof over our heads, and it gives us choices. But losing daddy taught me something that no amount of money ever could. It taught me that time is actually the most valuable thing we could ever have. If I could trade every penny in my bank account for one more hour with your daddy, I wouldn't even hesitate. Not one second. So I hope that as you grow up, you work hard and you're sensible like your daddy was with money. I hope you save, I hope you plan for your future. But I also hope you never become so focused on making a living that you forget to make a life. Your daddy certainly didn't do that. He worked harder than anyone else to give us financial security, but he also made the most of every single second you spent with friends and family. So he'd say book the trip, watch the sunset, say yes to adventures, buy the ice cream, go camping, learn to surf in Croyd with your little boy one day if you're lucky enough to have one too. Because those are the things that stay with us. Not the balance in our bank account. I also want you to know something else. If one day you look back and wonder whether I spent too much money making memories with you, I hope you'll forgive me. Because after losing your daddy, I realize that memories are one of the few things grief can never take away. Every campsite, every beach, every zoo trip, every holiday, every silly little adventure, they were never just days out. They were me trying to build a life that still felt full of love. One day you'll earn your own money and you'll decide what's worth spending it on. And when that day comes, I hope you remember this. Money comes and goes, time doesn't. Spend both wisely. And look, I don't have all the answers. I'm still figuring this out too. I'm still learning how to balance preparing for the future while allowing myself to live in the present. I'm still trying to work out when spending money is sensible and when it's just grief talking. Still carrying the occasional guilt when I choose joy. But if you're listening to this and you found yourself buying things, booking things, planning things, desperately trying to feel something other than sadness, I see you. And I don't think you're trying to replace the person you've lost. I think you're just trying to survive. And sometimes survival looks like paperwork. Sometimes it looks like budgeting. Sometimes it looks like sitting at the kitchen table wondering how on earth one person became responsible financially for everything. But also sometimes it looks like buying the concert tickets, booking the weekend away, taking a child on the adventure, creating memories because you know better than anyone else that life can change in an instant. That's not forgetting, that's living. And I think the people we love would want us to keep doing that. Thank you for sitting with me today. I'm sorry you're here, but I'm glad we're here together. I'll see you next week.