One of these women had gone all the way through grade and
high school with my husband and she got to telling the others about Don’s
funeral, and how “it was the best funeral she’d ever been to in her entire
life.” That made me beam with pride. I love being around people who knew Don
before his stroke because having known him explains a lot about me and how I
spent most of my adult life. Anyway, what are the odds of a car load of women
from my past and me crossing paths so far away from home and right on the heels
of when I was trying to reconnect with them---a million to one? The fact that
it happened is serendipity.
Since the main reason I signed up for this trip and other
activities at the senior hall is in a quest to find friendships, I was ready to
call this trip a success after this chance meeting but serendipity wasn’t going
to let me go of me that quickly. When our two buses pulled into the rest stop
for a coffee and donut break a woman from the other bus and I struck up a
conversation and in ten minutes we learned that we both love art, both quilt and craft,
both have no children, grandchildren or husbands, and that we are both looking
for someone to pal around with. We exchanged contact information and made plans
to be seatmates on the next senior hall trip in September.
On the bus ride home I was thinking about how hard it is for
some of us widows to form new friendships in our newly acquired single-hood
world. My best friend and confidant was my husband. For 42 years I really
didn’t need anyone else to fill that role and it’s been lonely without a sounding
board in my life. Sure, I have my blog for sharing my thoughts but it’s too often a
one way conversation and blogs can’t hug you hello and goodbye. Blah, blah,
blah you’ve heard it all before.
When I’m in the mood to be fair to the universe I have to
knowledge the fact that when Don first passed away other people did make
overtures of friendship---the phone numbers written in condolence cards, the
whispers of “call me if you want to talk” and the invitations to lunch or
movies I passed up, etc., etc. Back then I was still living in that mollusk-like
shell we widows draw over ourselves when mourning our losses takes over our
lives and we play act otherwise. Yes, some of us play act. We walk around like
we’re okay. We even carry on superficial conversations all the while wishing
they would end so we could get back to our ‘poor me’ thoughts. By the time we
get our heads unscrambled and we can drop the play acting, the overtures of friendship had flown off on the wings of time. It’s the way of the world. But it’s also the way
of the world that serendipity brings them back again like a summer breezes brings
delightful spicy aromas when we’re standing in the middle of a gorgeous herb
garden labyrinth. ©
