When do the tears finally start to turn into smiles?

After losing my funny, handsome husband of 45 years, that was the question I asked 75-year-old me almost every day. Our marriage wasn’t perfect (seriously, whose is?), but it was pretty darn close. When cancer came knocking, we faced it together for eight tough months. Believe it or not, even during that storm we found moments of laughter, silly dates, and little sparks of joy. That’s just who we were.

It’s been over three years now, and while I’ve grown stronger and more accepting, grief is still a roller coaster with a few too many dips. I am blessed with an amazing son, a wonderful daughter-in-law, two adorable grandkids, and the best circle of friends. Still, some days felt achingly quiet… and the nights even quieter.

On a little getaway with one of my dearest friends, she sat me down after noticing how much I’d changed. In her direct but loving way, she shared something she swore she once heard from my husband: “He doesn’t want you to be alone. He told me to remind you of that when the time was right.”

I’d had that conversation with him too, of course—but hearing it again, from her, made me pause.

Fast-forward to Christmas. The kids were out of state, and there I was, stretched out on the couch in my PJs, drowning in my own “woe is me” thoughts. How could they leave me alone? (Cue tiny violin.) But then, clear as day, I could feel him nudging me—reminding me that my life is, well… mine. If I wanted joy again, it was up to me to go find it.

So, fueled by equal parts courage and curiosity ( and a glass of Cab), I did something wild: I signed up for a dating site. In my pajamas. On Christmas. And that, my friends, was the first little spark of turning the page.

Quote for the week…

You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep rereading the last one.