OPINION: Portland resident finds grief, resilience with return to 'single filer' status

Some clubs have membership fees. Others have initiations. The Widows Club has only one requirement—one I never wanted to meet.

I’ve been in the Widows Club long enough that grief bombs no longer sink me. I can navigate triggers that sneak up in odd places—like while getting my taxes done. Now, they’re more like a tug on my heart, a quiet awareness of the difference between then and now. The sadness remains, but now it’s laced with gratitude—and even humor.

I hesitate to say how long my husband has been gone—lest some folks assume grief has a set timeline. It doesn’t. Grief moves at its own pace, as unique as the love lost.

For decades, my husband and I used the same tax preparer. When she retired, her replacement sent a scheduling reminder—along with a fee notice nearly three times higher. Time for a change. I chose a well-known tax prep company.

A young man, maybe early 20s, greeted me. Earnest and businesslike, he was clearly new at his job. The tell that gave him away was his slight awkwardness, frequent apologies, and failure to crack a smile at my jokes. Then again, maybe I’m just not that funny.

I admired his composure as he tackled curveballs while processing my taxes in real time. When asked about next year’s estimated payments, he warned me of penalties for early withdrawals “because you are 58 years old.” He didn’t seem like the type to flatter me on my youthful appearance. “I’m not 58,” I said. “I’m 68.” Oops. Wrong birthdate.

He wasn’t able to figure out how to reset it. This problem alone sent him out twice for assistance. In total, he excused himself at least six times for help.

Rather than feeling annoyed, I was impressed. He was learning on the job, facing obstacles under my watchful eye, yet staying calm under pressure (at least outwardly—who knows how rattled he was inside). In a way, I saw myself in him—thrown into a new world, forced to sink or swim.

He stumbled when I asked why, after years of refunds, I suddenly owed nearly $3,000. As we reviewed last year’s return, it hit me like a dart to the heart when I read on Jerry’s signature line: filing as surviving spouse. What a contrast from last year, when reading that had hit like a wrecking ball. Nothing says moving on quite like updating your filing status.

Now I was checking a box labeled single. Along with losing my husband, I lost the larger deduction available when married filing jointly. This elicited yet another flutter of my heart—one of many Widow Club reminders that I am no longer a we but an I. There is an abundance of unforeseen moments reminding us widows of our uncoupling. A big one for me was turning in our joint checks followed by the shock of opening the new box of checks bearing only my name. Back then, those moments felt like trying to breathe underwater—impossible. But now, when the winds shift, I adjust my sails.

The shifts in my life no longer feel like tidal waves—more like driftwood knocking against my boat. There is a welcome, and perhaps unexpected, perspective that eventually comes after surviving such dear losses: gratitude. Our life together was like a favorite novel, packed with love and adventure, and even a last chapter filled with laughter and tears.

Even so, I never would have expected to feel grateful for this surprise tax bill. I flashed back to our early days as young parents, when a bill like this would have derailed us. Now, I was thankful to have the means to pay for it.

Ninety minutes in, the young man was still navigating unfamiliar waters, doing his best to wrap things up. I marveled at the parallel—two people, opposite ends of the lifespan, both facing the unknown, both learning, adapting, finding our way.

When the receptionist signaled his next appointment, we parted ways, nodding our goodbyes. He was off to his next client, hopefully one with fewer glitches. I walked out into the world—single filer, solo traveler, three grand poorer, and yet, happy for it. I had weathered another reminder of what I've lost—and gained awareness of what I've learned to carry forward.

So be aware: grief sneaks up where you least expect it—even in tax forms. But so do reminders of resilience. So does gratitude. And sometimes, even joy.