After listing my home and before moving to Raleigh, I had a friend say to me, “Are you sure you want to start over in a new city?” Trying to make friends again at your age? That’s a tough crowd up there”. Along with everything else that had been thrown my way, I tucked it in my back pocket and took it as a challenge to be pursued at the appropriate time. My friend wasn’t wrong it was hard. I reconnected with old friends, college friends, met young friends in bible study, and one friend I know was a God-ordained gift. But for the most part, it was not like sorority Rush Week.
I look back on the past four years, and it’s almost incomprehensible that I am a widow. It’s like Nellie is singing in my ear, “It’s only just a dream” (or you can picture Anna Kendrick’s rendition from the movie Pitch Perfect if you prefer). Every time I go “home,” at least one person will say, “I still cannot believe he is gone.” My husband was just that man—the small-town legend. And, yet, there has been something so profound about being out from under that heritage. It’s been terrifying, heartbreaking, and, yes, dare I say, exhilarating. I don’t think I ever had the privilege of knowing who I was. I graduated from college, married, moved to my husband’s town, lived across the street from my in-laws, had babies, raised a family. It was a beautiful, sweet life, and I am thankful. When he died, I had absolutely no idea who I was, and I was terrified. Because we lived in his hometown, I never really became me. I morphed into the roles of wife and mother; this is not a bad thing. There was nothing I loved more than raising my family and being a wife! But if you are reading this as a widow, know that I understand your possible struggle with figuring out “Who am I, really?” or “Who am I now?” “Who do I want to become?”
When I bought my house further outside of the city, yes, me the introverted extrovert, I decided I would meet new friends weekly. Admittedly, COVID has made this a bit of a challenge. I purchased a bike and started exploring my area. I am near some great trails. Then I realized I wanted company. One of my daughters told me about an app called “Meet-Up.” You type in any activity you are interested in, from cooking, museums, cycling, dancing, kayaking, wine tasting, restaurant hopping, Southern history, tennis, running. There was even a widow’s group! I applied to join three groups. It was the best decision I have made in my two years of living in a metropolitan area. The old me would have never branched outside of my tree-ever. So here I am, the widow who dates, cycles, goes to bible study, church, travels quite a bit (domestically), and counsel’s other widows on social media. I’m the widow who gets kicked off of Twitter for having opinions. I’m the new Elizabeth who reaches out to people and asks them to lunch. I am now the me who can re-register to vote as unaffiliated just because I can. I am now the Elizabeth who knows how to use her pantry door as a bottle opener in a pinch. I am the me who hasn’t washed her car in 4 weeks because I can’t get my bike rack off the bumper and, well, bikes are more important. I’m the Elizabeth who eats when I feel like it and don’t when I don’t. For 27 years, I had dinner prepared or had my family in a dining establishment no later than 6 PM. I like this new me. A lot. This me is waking up every single day saying, “Lord, show me. Lord, use me. Lord, thank you. I choose Joy today”. It wasn’t that I couldn’t or didn’t do that as a wife—I very much did! It was just that I was Robin’s wife and my girl’s mother. I was everyone’s someone. On July 21, 2017, that all came to a screeching halt. The newly birthed me started a cycling club, albeit poorly organized and led, in her community. I’ve joined a women’s “Badass Group,” and yes, that’s their title. I’m involved in two bible studies and a supper club. I’m currently trying to go through a check-off list of National Park Greenways that were former Railways all over the East Coast. I hope to ride six Rail Trails in various states by Fall of 2021. I was dating someone but no longer am. I really like biking, traveling with my daughters, and being with friends right now. If you are ready, I highly recommend the dating process for self-discovery but not until you are ready.
Last year my friend, Lisa, a fellow North Carolinian and widow, hosted a show, “The Big Blue Chair” and I was a guest. We did an hour on IGTV, “Best Thing About Widowhood.” I look back at that interview where I thought, at the time, that the bad outweighs the good. I no longer believe that. And maybe in year 5 of widowhood, that will change again. The bottom line is our husbands are never coming back, so I made the conscious decision from Day 1 to grieve, feel it, live it but to find some form of joy every single day. There hasn’t been happy every day. I mean joy—God’s wonder, yes. I may have been in my pajamas with a gallon of ice cream crying my eyes out, but if I saw a Robin fly on my back window sill, then I found joy in that. It was a choice. Now? Life is settling and morphing into me. And it is good. Would I have chosen it? No, who would choose their Beloved’s death? But I would choose my resilience, faith, courage, tenacity, humor, and my love for my people over and over again any day of the week.
“Trust that if He changes your plans, it is a chance to walk by faith”-2 Corinthians 5:7