In the final weeks of 2023, Nora’s partner collapsed in their Wedding apartment. It was undiagnosed myocarditis: a heart condition that can, in rare cases, lead to sudden cardiac death. Just like that, he was gone.
“I don’t think this will ever fully be okay,” she says now. “I feel like I’m constantly thinking about him while simultaneously doing everything else … my brain is constantly in two places at once.”
At 30, Nora became a widow. In the months that followed, she began to feel increasingly isolated. She tried attending the Young Widowers Dinner Club, the only group in Berlin specific to navigating early widowhood. “They tried to speak English,” she says, “but it just didn’t feel like enough.” While the group may offer comfort to native German speakers, Nora found it harder to connect as a non-fluent speaker.
Someone actually called me a widow during sex, which I found to be super fucked up.
“I think the hardest part about losing someone when you’re young is that people don’t understand grief,” she explains. “It’s severe and exhausting and sad and distracting all at once. It makes it really hard to connect with people.”
Going out was a distraction, but interactions with “party friends” became draining. “People here go out and take drugs and overshare, and it’s just very superficial,” Nora says. “They’re fine hearing about stuff, but they don’t know how to really be there.”
Nora isn’t the only one navigating loss at an age when most people are building futures. Six years ago, Doa’s partner overdosed. “I froze for a second and forgot to breathe,” she says, recalling the moment she discovered the news. “I drank two bottles of red wine a day for a good while because I couldn’t stand the thought of it.” Claire’s fiancé died in a traffic accident in 2020. “I was a ghost in the early days,” Claire remembers. “I knew I needed extra support. I couldn’t manage to live on my own.”
All three – Nora, Doa and Claire – were 30 or younger when their partners died. And while each loss was different, they’ve all faced a society that doesn’t quite know what to do with grief.
“There’s not much dialogue around grief,” Claire says. “When I’ve had grief-related things, I’ve had to figure it out myself.” Reddit has only a handful of threads on widowhood in Berlin, and everyone seems to have read the same ones. Beyond that? One or two English-language death cafés, a predominantly German dinner club and not much else.
Claire describes grief as a heavy, sharp object you learn to carry: “It cuts you at first, but you build handles … you will learn to carry it, whether you want to or not.” Doa spent two years unable to imagine another relationship: “I thought I would be single forever. My soulmate was gone, and that was it.”
For Doa, dating brought its complications. “Dating in Berlin is extremely rough,” she says. “Most men I dated reminded me of [him] – they were all lost, came with tonnes of emotional baggage and were avoiding communication.” She also remembers men reacting poorly to her tribute tattoo. “My ex used to be jealous … Another man found it ‘weird,’” Doa says. “They really made me question myself at first.” Her current partner, though, is different: “He always tells me that whenever I want to talk or vent about it, I can.”
Disclosing loss to new partners never becomes easy. Claire began considering dating two years after her fiancé’s death, but it took another year before she felt ready for an emotional connection. While dating in Berlin, Claire has tried both early honesty and delayed disclosure. Both tactics, unfortunately, have resulted in the relationship ending or getting “completely ghosted”. “To some people, it’s a red flag,” she explains, “but if they see it as a red flag, I don’t want them in my world.”
Nora described how her widow status led to “weird sexual experiences”, with two men bringing up her loss during sex. “The first guy I had sex with said, ‘Oh, you’ve missed sex so much’ – just kind of bringing up that I had a dead partner,” Nora explains. “Someone else actually called me a widow during sex, which I found to be super fucked up.”
But Claire says these challenges aren’t unique to Berlin: “Especially young widows … we all struggle to navigate the dating scene. We’ve put in a lot of emotional work, and it’s difficult to find somebody who understands that at our age.” Nora adds, “I feel like it’s easier for older people … because everyone knows about death when you’re 60, but I’m 31.”
Desire after death is also rarely discussed. For Nora, sex was initially a way to disconnect. “I was honestly very horny. Not like right after, but about the six-week mark,” she says. “His death made it so I just wanted to enjoy my life … It was easy for me to have casual sex because I don’t need to be connected. But I’m still so connected to him, and it’s really hard to move on.” Claire, by contrast, hasn’t been with anyone physically. “For me, a strong emotional connection is key … so it’s very hard for me to just have a casual relationship.”
There’s no set timeline. “We all have different needs,” Claire says. “The focus is always on the timeline, but … it just doesn’t work that way.” One piece of advice that helped: wait “until it no longer feels repulsive to you.” At first, the idea of another man was “vomit inducing” for Claire, but, eventually “that becomes an easier thought and then you act upon it”.
For young widows dating in Berlin, Doa advises: “Take it slow. Berlin particularly has a broken dating life … talk to your dates about it. It will be awkward, but you will know by how it makes you feel whether you are ready or not.” Nora urges caution with partying: “Try not to party that much because it’s very easy to get lost in it.”
If you’re supporting someone grieving, Claire says the most important thing is simple: Don’t ignore it. “It can be anything from asking all the questions, or saying ‘Wow, that’s massive. I’m sorry you’ve gone through that. Do you mind if I sit with that thought for a bit?’”
The hardest part about losing someone when you’re young is that people don’t understand grief
Now, each woman is moving forward – slowly, deliberately and on their own terms.
Nora is still exploring: showing up to events, leaning into her queerness and learning to honour where she’s at. “I like the idea of a partner, but just the idea … I always get to moments where it’s like ‘I’m doing really well, maybe it’s over’ and then it’s like of course it’s not.”
Doa is now in a relationship built on shared interests and emotional safety. Still, past losses linger. “Although I’m in a healthy relationship now, I have to try really hard to suppress the ‘trauma voices’ inside my head … I always think of the worst.”
Claire isn’t rushing. She’s built a solid life in Berlin and isn’t willing to compromise on what she knows is possible. “[My fiancé] set the gold standard … If you can’t handle my grief, who I am, then I’d rather be alone and thriving in my own world.”
Grief doesn’t end when desire reignites. These stories are reminders that there’s no correct timeline, no neat resolution – and that’s okay. What helps most is a world that better understands grief and the people carrying it.
“I desperately wish I had people close to me who understood grief in those early days,” Claire says. “Death happens to all of us at one point or another, and it behooves us as humans to learn a little bit about it and be willing to talk about it.”
