Remarrying: How long should you wait after losing a spouse?

Love that leads to marriage often comes with promises—“till death do us part.” For some, this vow lasts a lifetime. For others, the story ends sooner than expected.

The death of a partner leaves an emptiness that is hard to explain. For some, therapy offers a safe space to unpack the pain. For many others, grief becomes a silent companion. The memories shared in laughter, in routines, in silence—they don’t fade easily.

Alfayo Ongori, a 48-year-old who works at Delmonte Kenya in Thika, knows this feeling all too well. His wife, Esther Wanja, passed away in 2013 after a long struggle with health complications. They had been married for 14 years and were raising two young children.

“After the burial, people showed up in numbers,” Mr Ongori recalls. “There was food, prayers, even offers to help with the children, but by the third month, it was just me—and the silence.”

He describes long nights of staring at her picture on the wall.

“There were days I couldn’t eat. Nights I couldn’t sleep. Grief is like swimming in wet clothes—heavy, exhausting, and invisible to others,” he says.

Then came Valary, a colleague from work. Their relationship began not with romance, but with something simpler: conversation. A glance turned into greetings. Greetings turned into WhatsApp chats.

“We started meeting for coffee. It wasn’t romantic at first—I just needed someone to talk to.”

But companionship has a way of growing quietly. Three years after his wife’s death, they got engaged. In 2017, they moved in together as husband and wife.

That decision, however, was met with resistance.

“My brother-in-law didn’t speak to me for two months. My mother-in-law called me crying, saying I was dishonoring Esther’s memory. But I kept asking—how long is long enough? What clock are we using to measure grief?”

Jane Otieno also lost her spouse. Her husband died in a car accident. Six years later, she’s still single.

“People expect widows to wear black forever,” she says. “If I even smile at someone in public, there’s gossip.”

She once attended a singles event, hoping to meet new people—but instead left with a heavy heart.

“A woman from church saw me there. That Sunday, people whispered and stared. That was the last time I went.”

Jane says she finds it unfair that society reacts differently when men remarry. “When a man remarries, they say, ‘He needs someone to take care of him.’ But if a woman does the same, it’s said she’s forgotten her husband too soon.”

Eunice Anthony, a psychologist says moving on doesn’t mean letting go of love—it means making space for life again.

“Love after loss is not betrayal,” she affirms. “It’s a sign that someone has done the difficult work of grieving and is ready to embrace happiness again.”

Grief, she explains, isn’t something you just get over. It’s something you carry differently over time. “You must go through the pain, process the loss, and develop healthy coping strategies. Only then can you truly be ready to love again.”

Her advice? Don’t judge someone’s timeline. Healing isn’t linear—and neither is love.

“Honor the loss. Take your time. Then choose happiness—guilt-free.”

Joseph Mwita, a pastor at Calvary Church in Nairobi’s Kitengela estate offers a faith-based perspective. For him, it’s not about when someone remarries—it’s why.

“Grief is not a competition,” he says. “Someone might remarry in a year and still hold deep respect for their late spouse. Another might wait 10 years and still not feel ready.”

He warns against rushing into relationships out of loneliness or societal pressure.

“The Bible allows remarriage after the death of a spouse,” he says. “But marriage is a covenant. You must be sure your heart has healed before stepping into it again.”

In his role as a pastor, he’s counseled many widows and widowers.

“Some feel judged for moving on. Others feel judged for not moving on. Some fear what society or the church might say. Many feel guilty—as if loving again means forgetting. But it doesn’t.”

What research says

A study published by the National Library of Medicine shows that men tend to remarry more quickly than women after losing a spouse.

The median remarriage time is 1.7 years for men and 3.5 years for women. But timelines vary widely depending on personal and cultural factors.

Several influences shape the decision to remarry: Cultural and societal norms; the presence of children, financial circumstances, emotional readiness and the longing for companionship.

Interestingly, remarriage rates after the death of a spouse are lower than after divorce—perhaps because the emotional attachment remains stronger, and societal expectations more rigid.

“There’s no one-size-fits-all,” the study concludes. “It’s a deeply personal decision that should be based on individual needs, healing, and values.”

So, how soon is too soon?

There’s no universal answer. The journey from grief to new love is as individual as the people walking it. For some, healing opens the door to love again in a year. For others, it may take many more—or never happen at all.

What matters most is not when someone remarries, but why. Is it loneliness or healing? Is it pressure or peace?

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