When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. About three years ago, shortly after my husband died, we were introduced.
Widows know each others’ pain; it’s something we just have to live through or not. People who haven’t had this loss hide behind a wall of words telling you how you should feel or even better how your husband would want you to feel. Well intended people can make you crazy in your grief.
“You feel how you feel. You can’t push it. You can’t change it. You just have to accept it. It hurts.” She identified with the experience.
An obviously wounded woman spoke the truth. We bonded in our grief. We gave each other moral support to make the best of the days we shared. Lost in
Rico with two senior
ladies could be the title of our early adventures. In the depths of my
mourning, I learned to laugh again.
Have you ever met someone fun? I enjoyed her quixotic changes of topic. It taught me to be flexible. I can be rigid. And, oh, my, she bathed in the center of attention! I was the Martin to her Lewis; we laughed through many experiences.
First, I love myself; teacher set the example. No matter what the topic her sentence always began with I. After a while I found that annoying, but realized she struggles also, so accept a friend as she came. Later it crossed my mind that I should find what my husband found lovable in me.
For three years this soul has been my closest friend, whom I love dearly. There is so much I admire about her. We had some great fun together. This time in my life was better for you being in it; gracias. I wish you all the best. It hurts to say, “Goodbye!”
The only thing that would grieve me more is to again be subjected to the hateful speech hurled at me on Thursday. That was the meanest I’ve ever seen you do. You wanted to hurt me; why?
Doesn’t matter because you did it; you hurt me so badly that we’re done. Is that what you wanted?
Give me Thanksgiving Dinner for one.