Losing my loving husband a week before my fifty-third
birthday turned my world upside down. Gone were the daily hugs, the heartfelt “I
love you” and candle light evenings at home together.
At the funeral friends and family hugged and wept with me,
but within weeks the phone calls faded and their lives returned to normal. I on
the other hand wasn’t that lucky. A few longtime friends continued to hang in
there, but eventually most of them evaporated like the steam off a hot mug of
coffee. Tiring of my tears and sadness, some of my long time friends
disappeared.
Starting a new job just three weeks after the funeral
blessed me with a few new friends who embraced my grief and never gave up on
me. Even though they weren’t always sure what to say or do they stayed by my
side, some how they understood. At night, after working all day surrounded by
colleagues and students, I returned to my empty house in a tiny rural town.
Each night a lonely silence greeted me at the door. To keep myself company, I
tuned in the nightly episode of “Friends.” They weren’t my real friends, but
they made me laugh and broke the solitude as I ate my microwave dinners at the
empty table.
On my first training trip for my new position, I found
myself on an airplane headed to Washington, D.C. with a group of people I had
never met. That night, gathered around a table in a local bar, we talked,
sipped drinks and laughed. The laughter felt strange yet good. As we visited, I
realized the woman sitting next to me lived just a few miles from me, and we
attended the same church. We traveled together, supported each other through
hard times and have been friends ever since.
Several months after John died, I joined a grief group at a
local church hoping to connect with some new friends. After the first few
sessions, I realized I didn’t have much in common with the older widows. Many
of them had spent fifty or more years with their husbands, had adult children,
and numerous grandchildren. Fortunately, I continued to attend and met another
widow closer to my age. We called each other regularly, went out for dinner and
offered each other support. Some how we bonded and developed a wonderful
friendship that has lasted for thirteen years.
Each day we're blessed with a new sunrise and the opportunity to touch other people's lives. After a loss, friends may come and go, but I truly believe
that
God puts special people in our lives when we need them most.
Read more about the process of rebuilding my life in my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal. Available online in e-book and paperback at:
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