In the early months of grief after the sudden death of my husband, I felt like I was in a fog with no idea where I was going. The following is an excerpt from my book, "Twenty-Eight Snow Angels A Widow's Story of Love, Loss and Renewal". One cold winter night I decided to attend a grief group at a local church. I really didn't want to bundle up in my winter clothes and go out in the frigid darkness, but forced myself to get into the car. Looking back, I'm glad I went.
The Pastor asked us to share something about our loss and why we came to the group. I shifted my weight on the chair. Listening to the stories of the women seated around the table, thoughts tumbled through my head. Most of the women were in their mid to late eighties, had been married for almost fifty years, had adult children and several grandchildren. When my turn came my heart raced in my chest. Pushing the tears back, I told them that my husband was fifty-four when he died, we never had children and now I was alone.
After an hour of talking about death and the stages of grief, the pastor ended the session with a prayer and we said our goodbyes. Walking through the dark parking lot I thought, how lucky those women were to have so many years to share with their husbands. I felt cheated—not enough time, retirement dreams unfulfilled, and no grandchildren. Driving down County Road 18 with my Indian flute tape playing, I thought about the session. The pastor didn’t tell us how to get through our losses. His vague phrases “lean into the grief . . . healing takes time . . . be kind to yourself” brought little comfort and did not magically heal my pain.
At the time, I didn't get much out of the session, but I met another widow who became my close friend. We shared our stories, cried and laughed together. We developed a
