Obituary Examples for a Wife

Many husbands have never written a paragraph about their wife in their lives, and then are asked to write the only one that will be printed. The examples below are plain on purpose. They do not reach for words he would not use. Names and towns are invented.

The short notice (about 60 words)

Carol Ann Whitaker, 71, of Lexington, Kentucky, died on September 6, 2026, after a short illness. She is survived by her husband of forty-nine years, Jim; her sons, Brian and Kevin; and six grandchildren. A funeral service will be held Friday, September 12, at 11:00 a.m. at Southland Christian Church. Memorial gifts to the Lexington Humane Society, her choice.

A long marriage (about 230 words)

Carol Ann Whitaker, 71, of Lexington, died on September 6, 2026, at Baptist Health, with Jim holding her hand, which is how she went everywhere for forty-nine years.

Carol was born in Paducah in 1955 and came to Lexington for nursing school, where she met Jim Whitaker at a laundromat, corrected the way he was folding, and married him fourteen months later. She worked as a labour and delivery nurse at Central Baptist for thirty-six years and delivered, by her own count, "about a small town." Half of Lexington has a photograph of Carol holding them on their first day.

She ran the house, the church bake sale, two sons, a golden retriever succession and, for the last decade, Jim's blood pressure. She grew tomatoes that she gave away and roses that she did not. She read a book a week and was not shy about telling you what she thought of it. She could not carry a tune and sang anyway, loudly, in the car, which her grandchildren say is their favourite thing about her.

She is survived by Jim; her sons, Brian (Melissa) and Kevin (Dana); her grandchildren, Tyler, Emma, Jacob, Lily, Grace and Sam; and her sister, Janet Reed. A service will be held Friday, September 12, at 11:00 a.m. at Southland Christian Church. Bring a story. She kept everybody else's.

The same woman, in her husband's voice (about 160 words)

My wife, Carol, died on Saturday morning. I was there. She was 71 and I had been married to her since I was twenty-three, and I do not know how to do the next part without her.

She was a nurse for thirty-six years and delivered half this town. She grew tomatoes for the neighbours and roses for herself. She sang in the car so badly that the grandkids recorded her, and I am glad they did. She told me what to do every day of our marriage and she was right almost every time, and I would give anything to be told what to do this morning.

The service is Friday at 11 at Southland. She would want you to come and she would want you to eat afterwards, so there will be food. Thank you for every kindness. She kept track of them all; I will try to.

A young mother

Alicia Marie Santos, 41, of Tucson, died on September 2, 2026, after eighteen months with breast cancer, which she fought the way she did everything: on a schedule, in bright colours, without letting anyone feel sorry for her.

Alicia was a fourth-grade teacher at Sam Hughes Elementary, the mother of Mateo, 9, and Sofia, 6, and the wife of Carlos, who she married in 2014 after telling him on the first date that she did not have time to waste. She made lunches with notes in them, coached Sofia's soccer from a lawn chair this spring, and recorded herself reading forty bedtime stories so the kids would still have her voice. They do.

She is survived by Carlos, Mateo and Sofia; her parents, Ray and Linda Ortega; and her brother, Michael. A celebration of her life will be held at Reid Park on Saturday, September 13, at 9:00 a.m., before it gets hot. Wear something bright.

A wife who died after a long illness

A long illness means a long goodbye, and often a husband who became a nurse. The obituary can honour that without making the illness the story.

Helen Marie Kowalczyk, 83, of Buffalo, died on September 10, 2026, after a long illness, cared for at home by her husband, Frank, who learned to cook at seventy-nine because she asked him to.

Before she was ill, Helen was the bookkeeper at Kowalczyk Plumbing for forty years, the organiser of the Broadway Market pierogi sale for thirty, and the reason anyone in the family ever got a birthday card on time. She and Frank danced every Saturday at the Polish Falcons until her legs would not, and then they sat and watched, and Frank says that was fine too.

She is survived by Frank, her husband of sixty-one years; her daughter, Diane; her son, Mark; five grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren. A funeral Mass will be held Monday, September 15, at 10:00 a.m. at St. Stanislaus. The family thanks the nurses of Hospice Buffalo, and Frank, though he will not want it said.

What to say about yourself

Husbands tend to vanish from their wives' obituaries. Do not. One line is enough, and it is the line readers look for: how long, and what she was to you. "Her husband of forty-nine years, Jim" is the form. "I had been married to her since I was twenty-three" is the feeling. Either is right. Leaving yourself out is the only wrong answer.