Starts

A friend gets married today.

Jessica was my first friend as a widower. She lost her husband, Matt, a few months after I lost my wife, Mary.

A mutual friend introduced us in the days after Matt’s passing. I was on a roadtrip, learning how to be a single dad. Mary had been gone four months and I was deep into a world-record-breaking adrenaline rush.

I was plowing through tasks and adventures and life seemed to be reshaping to accomdate me. Jess was another puzzle piece perfectly timed and placed.

Preposterously, four months of widowhood gave me the confidence to comfort someone else in grief. Once we met in person, I realized it necessary that we comfort each other.

Jess became the safest place in the world. If I yelled at my kids, drank too much, hurt someone’s feelings, or was altogether lost, I could tell her without fear. Those weren’t the darkest confessions. The thoughts. The thoughts of a grieving person are hard to communicate without some relatability. As a young widow, single parent, impossible optimist, and adventurous soul, Jess heard me like no one else could.

Our dark moments are matched with equally brilliant flashes of joy. Our monthly lunches shock nearby parties in their wild swings from heartbreaking sadness to cavalier cheerfulness.

Her first date with her fiancé, George, happened shortly before I started dating. Our romantic journeys were quite different, but we shared many of the trials and tribulations we encountered as we welcomed love back into our lives.

I’ve spent a relatively short amount of time with George, but I am overwhelmingly appreciative of the love, care, and peace that he has brought into my friend’s life.

Widowhood is full of unexpected starts like weddings. I could not feel more blessed to watch Jessica and George embark on this wonderful start today.