Introduction

What do we do when life ends? How do we honor the past while moving into an unimaginable, uncertain future? This tender, bracingly honest memoir explores how Jenny, a young widow, navigates the sudden loss of Tris, her beloved spouse of eighteen years.

With Tris gone, Jenny suddenly finds herself a single mom to a teen daughter and adult stepson. The newly splintered family finds ways to celebrate “milestone firsts” —including birthdays and other holidays that, without Tris, now feel hollow and bittersweet. Jenny finds herself drawn to new people, including other widows and psychic mediums, and becoming open to different kinds of connections based on sharing and spirituality. She also embarks on a halting quest for new romantic love. Initially, as she endures awkward first dates and unpleasant interactions with self-proclaimed “nice guys,” she resists her new reality —but over time, she finds someone unexpectedly comforting, blending the pain of loss with the pleasure of closeness. For readers who have also lost a loved one, The Good Widow offers both a comforting guide to grief and a form of companionship; for everyone, it’s a beautiful example of how even after death, love endures.

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Excerpt

My Beloved,

It’s just over seven months now since you’ve been gone.

At times, I still can’t believe it. It feels incredible that I’ll never again be able to hold your hand, stroke your hair, or kiss your lips. I ache to touch you again, for you to touch me. I am starving, ravenous to smell your scent, breathe your breath. Instead, I stand in front of your open closet, stroking the dress shirts that had touched the once warm skin over your once beating heart.

Although I miss your body, the smell and touch and feel of you, I also miss your mind, your wisdom, your clarity. You had such a broad perspective on our lives and the world around us. I miss your personality, your shyness, your sturdiness, and your silly puns. You appreciated the absurd; you taught me to find and to laugh at the funny parts of bad behavior and bad situations. I miss your generosity, how you would buy me tulips and bring me treats. You would ask about my day and listen patiently to my complaints, my worries, nodding and softly stroking my hand, my cheek. I miss your companionship, you seated next to me, talking about parenting, planning our next vacation. With you, the future was a fun and exciting place. I miss being yours, and how proud I felt to be your chosen life companion. I loved being the wife of the kind, brilliant scientist who worked tirelessly to make a difference in this world. I miss your flaws – how you could be indecisive, flustered, and forgetful. You were always buying new nail clippers.

This morning I had the image of our life together as a tall two story building, perhaps a house, with clean white walls. Your death smashed into this structure like a wrecking ball, leaving a gaping hole and debris everywhere. Our life is now my life -- broken, fragmented, such a mess. The damage is massive and overwhelming. Is it even possible to clean this up? Should I even try? The cavernous hole has left me bare, exposed. The winds hit me directly now. I shiver and feel vulnerable, unsafe. I also wonder about the foundation – is there enough of a base here? Will all that is left suddenly collapse? How will I be able to find a way to exist in these jumbled ruins?

Only time will tell. But time is the villain of our story. We didn’t have enough time. There is no more time to be together. Our time is over. The world keeps spinning, the sun keeps rising, and the clock keeps ticking. Time advances. Carried forward by new days, I move unwillingly, powerlessly, away from you.

Slowly, and painfully, I’m adjusting. It’s happening automatically, against my will. As the days pass, and as I continue to live, and you continue to be gone, your absence feels more and more familiar. The circular indent from our wedding band on my left ring finger, now naked, has been mostly smoothed away. Automatically, last night, I parked my car in the middle of the garage we once shared. I hate this, of course. I still want to tell you the good news, still want to lie next to you at night. But now I find that, when there’s good news, the old immediate urge to tell you has faded away. And when I force myself upstairs, stumbling into our bed in the darkest hour of night, it’s now familiar to find the unwrinkled sheets, your unused pillow, bare and cold.

Yours always,

J view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. If you could go back and control what happened on the day you lost someone, what would you want to have happen? Why? How might those changes affect your feelings now?

2. Why is grief a taboo topic, rarely openly discussed? What gets in the way of open discussion about mourning and bereavement? What can be done to better support people in grief?

3. In your experience, what does it mean to “move forward” after a loss?

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