Widowish: A Memoir(60)

I started publishing essays about my widowish journey online and in local newspapers. I began hearing from so many people. My story had resonated with them and their emails had common themes:

“No one understands my story.”

“My parents want to help but the only widows they know are in their seventies.”

“I’m still young enough to get married again, maybe even have more kids, but no one wants to date a widow.”

Many of them lived in Los Angeles. A few of them asked if they could meet me. They didn’t know of any widows their same age. They wanted to share their stories. So I called Allison. “I think we need to do something about all these young widows.”

“Yes!” she said. “Let’s plan our first meeting. I’m happy to volunteer my backyard if everyone brings some food. We’ll make it a potluck.”

“With wine!” I said.

“Absolutely!” she agreed.

I was nervous sending out that first email. There were so many people on the list! Many lived close by, some were friends of friends. I wanted to strike the right tone, make sure people knew that it wasn’t a bereavement group but a social gathering among people who understood . . . I barely hit send when the replies came back fast and eager. People were so thankful. They wanted to connect, to meet and embrace this strange widowish world that we all inhabit.

I hold Allison back before we head into her living room. I give her a quick hug.

“Thank you!” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she says. “But for what, I don’t know.”

“For calling me that day. For reaching out. I didn’t think I would call you back, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Yup. And look at us now!”

I look toward the living room and take a deep breath, then Allison and I head in the direction of the group we’ve assembled.

For the first few meetings, I asked everyone to bring a picture of their spouse who died. We all went around, introduced ourselves, and our loved one. I brought the picture of Joel that five-year-old Sophie took—I’m Melissa. This is my husband, Joel.

We all shared a memory. Joel made me laugh out loud every day. Early on, he told me a joke about John Cougar Mellencamp.

I told them that on the way over, I saw a hummingbird. One of the widows immediately said, “My girls and I know that every butterfly we see is a visit from Peter.”

Another widow chimed in. “And every passing fire truck is Stewart saying hi to our three-year-old son.”

We get together several times a year. Each time we meet, there is a new member. We always honor the spouse we have lost. At every single meeting, we laugh, and we cry.

We share our stories over cabernet and brie and store-bought brownies. We are a surprisingly happy group—and young. Most of us, both men and women, lost our spouses in our forties, if not younger. If a stranger were to walk into our meeting, they would probably guess we were a book club, or colleagues from the office, or parents planning a school event. Not a group of widows.

We are all widowish. No one “looks” like a widow. If we wear black, it’s because it’s on trend. You don’t see any gray hair because we color it. Some of us are in relationships, and some help write each other’s online dating profiles. Those of us with children are all only parents now, and we have kids ranging in age from preschool to college.

We are in this surreal club because of cancer, because of failing hearts, because of brain tumors, because of tragedy.

And one of us is in this club because of a mosquito bite.

That would be me.

This is my story.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book became a reality when my agent, Caryn Karmatz Rudy, offered me her condolences and representation on our first phone call. Her belief in my story as well as her intelligence and calm demeanor has meant the world to me—I feel so lucky to have found you!

I have pinched myself over and over for having “a book in production.” Thanks to the entire team at Little A for making it such a joyful experience! It started with two amazing editors: Erin Callahan Mooney, whose early support I so appreciate, and Carmen Johnson, whose keen insights and genuine enthusiasm for Widowish have guided me thoughtfully through every part of this process.

I give Robin Finn credit for seeing what was possible long before I could even imagine it. Thank you for your continual support, love, and friendship. You are a light in the world even if it took me twelve years to notice!

Bella Mahaya Carter—you provided the safest space for me to start telling my story. I’m also in awe of the other writers I wrote with week in and week out . . . Keep going, all of you!

Courtney Churchill Crane and Megan Austin Oberle—my beloved Ladies Who Lit—I adore writing, sharing, and reading with both of you!

Clark Benson, Benjie Gordon, and Vince Hans, I am beyond grateful for your generosity . . . I know that Joel is, too.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my healing journey began when I received Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman. Thank you, Darren Swimmer, for such a meaningful gift.

Chrisa Sadd, my beautiful friend whom I met on the same day as Joel—you will always have a special place in my heart.

Suzanne LaCock Browning, Michellene Debonis, Karen Gold, Visi Mooradian, Michelle Peterson, and Jennie Rosenthal—you were beacons of light during the darkest time. I love you all!