The Coffee Table

A widow named Virginia started this haven: A twice monthly meeting for widows and widowers to share their sorrows and joys. And anger. And confusion. Tears, laughter, and profanity are all allowed. None are frowned upon. These folks cradle the broken spirit of one who has lost a life partner.

I thought about not going to the meeting last week. I’m busy. Overwhelmed, actually. I’m sorting, packing, and preparing to leave the home I shared with my husband of more than three decades. The house we built together, and the acreage where he died.  It’s exhausting, and I just didn’t feel like driving. 

But I went. And although our fearless leader could not be there due to illness, I felt a great comfort to be with people who “get it.” 

There was a new face at the table. In other words, somebody else has become a member of the club that nobody wants to join. (But we all hope he’ll be glad he came—and will choose to keep attending.)

I remember my first meeting. I wouldn’t have gone if my daughter hadn’t escorted me. I am an introvert and tend to avoid groups of people whose faces aren’t familiar. But I was also a new widow, caught in a whirlpool of despondency that threatened to suck me under. I needed support.

I recall that people were chatting and laughing. And I couldn’t understand it. How could people who’ve lost their partners be jolly? I sat across the table from another new member. She was crying. That seemed more appropriate. I felt an instant bond with her.  

But by the end of that first meeting I had a glimmer of hope. Each of these people had, at some point, been in my shoes. They told me so. With some detail. 

And they all survived. They had friendships. Made plans. Even made plans as a group to go out into the world and have—well, fun. 

We missed you, Virginia. But the room was packed. There was laughter. There were tears. There was the kind of humor that only a close group of survivors can get away with. Although I cried a little, I felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for these partners in grief. And for your having brought this group together.

Twenty months ago, I was struggling to stay afloat in a swirling sea of sorrow. This group taught me to cling to faith in my ability to endure. And I do cling. I’ve developed claws that grip the fabric of life. That keep me sane. Sanity claws!

I still miss my darling husband. (And sometimes, in a fit of overwhelmedness, I call out to the “stupid old man,” annoyed at him for leaving me to singlehandedly tote boxes and chairs to my daughter’s garage for temporary storage.) But I am ready to accept that I can have an adventure without him by my side. I’m pulling up stakes and going… well, I don’t yet know where. Some folks think I’m off my rocker. (I have put at least 4 rocking chairs in storage.) But at the widows & widowers meeting I get kudos for daring to live.

Thanks, Virginia.

And for anybody who needs to join the club— Meetings are held at noon on the first and third Wednesdays of each month at the Eureka Springs United Methodist Church, 195 Huntsville Rd. You needn’t be a church member to attend.  Or even a churchgoer. Just a person who’s lost a partner and needs support.