How I Found Community Years After Loss of Spouse

When my husband died in the summer of 2023, my life as I knew it changed forever.

I met Jerry when I was a 17-year-old college freshman. We never spent more than a night apart during our 62-year marriage. If a business trip took him out of town for more than one night, I went with him. That was our rule.

At the end of his life, it was a double whammy — the pandemic and a series of illnesses that kept us hunkered down at home together with me as caretaker and us keeping each other company. After he passed, I was in double grief. Not only did I lose the love of my life, I lost my sense of purpose. It ended. Abruptly.

The saving grace was that Jerry was in hospice care the last seven weeks of his life and I found out that care doesn’t stop when the patient dies. It transfers to the surviving partner. I took advantage of all hospice offered — a counselor for 13 months (paid for by Medicare) and in-person grief counseling groups. The five women in my assigned group had also lost their partners — and their sense of purpose.

We met weekly for several months; our conversation was guided by a hospice volunteer. We talked about our loved ones and about our feelings. Over a short time, the bond of widowhood solidified our friendships. We made a promise to meet monthly, even after the formal sessions came to an end.

It didn’t matter that we were different ages, had different jobs, hobbies and beliefs. Instead of referring to ourselves as widows, we call ourselves the “Grace Group.”

The word “widow” is too depressing, and brings to mind a sad old woman sitting alone in a rocking chair. We are not that woman. Yes, sometimes we cry. But we laugh too.

We get together for potluck lunches or meet at a quiet restaurant. We support each other — in person and through our very busy text string. We rage when a plumber tries to overcharge one of us, taking advantage of what he thinks is a clueless widow. We stress together when someone’s impossible-to-reach smoke alarm battery won’t stop chirping, we celebrate each other’s little victories. We make an extra effort to get together when one of us is observing the date of a partner’s death – or his birthday.

It is wonderful to have the support of my Grace Group and the company of my children and their spouses who live nearby. Still, most evenings I was alone, eating my dinner, watching TV and feeling sorry for myself.

Until one evening, a neighbor called and asked if she could come over and have a drink with me. We nibbled cheese, drank wine and chatted for hours. One Friday became two and we decided to make it a regular thing and to invite more neighbors. My house was on a country property, miles from anyone. Still, people started showing up with a bottle of wine or chips and guacamole — or empty hands. It didn’t matter. It was their company that I cherished.