This little story began the closing ceremony of one of our walks some years ago. Group members were saying their farewells and giving the Hospice Hug to everyone when a woman took me aside. The woman was a bit younger than most of the others, likely in her early fifties.

She hoped that the group would continue walking on Saturdays. She then went on to say that it was a lonely life without her husband. I suggested that perhaps life would be better now with new friends.

We chatted along these lines for a bit, and then I pointed out some of the other folks in the group who were obviously now good friends. She turned and motioned to a man who was talking to some other walkers. She said, “He’s taken.”

I was suitably stunned. As things turned out, the man was taken, but it took some time before he understood his own reality!

Is there such a thing as love at first sight? This man had a very difficult time realizing that this woman was offering him a whole new life. She was kind, gentle, understanding, and patient. She told me that the first time they met she knew that he loved her.

To date, some seven hundred and thirty-two folks have graduated from the Walking Group Program which began in 1986. The Bereavement Self-Help Group begun in 1988 and with many more members has witnessed fewer marriages than have occurred in walking groups.

Food for thought! What is there about walking with strangers that fosters new relationships and even the development of intimacy?

Another take on the relationship theme is that many of my bereaved friends find new relationships in the past. You hear comments such as, “Oh, we go way back.” What people are really saying is that they have known each other for many years. Sometimes, after a few gentle questions, you learn that they were childhood friends, and often they were more than friends.

Now and then, a member of our social group will go away on a trip and return with a friend. Of course, people are happy about such a situation and welcome the newcomer. We hear many stories of school romances, some of which go back forty years and more. Then there is the story of two couples who played bridge every Saturday night for years and years. Unhappily, two of the spouses died quite close together, and the bereaved couple gradually drifted into a relationship.
Bereaved people have many ways to find someone with whom to share their lives; it should not come as a surprise to witness such new relationships unfolding. What matters most is to acknowledge and support these new relationships no matter how or when they happen.

It was some time before I understood the subliminal messages that I was receiving from my bereaved friends about their new relationships. The message was telling me that when we give a little piece of our hearts to another human being, it is very difficult to get it back. Somewhere in memory, we carry that first time romance with someone special. What could be more natural than, when bereaved, remembering that special person.

I am no longer surprised when I hear that one of our friends has returned with someone who was, if only for a brief time, a part of that person’s life. Why is this not surprising? Well, I have always remembered the first serious girlfriend that I had. From time to time, I have thought about her and idly wondered how her life turned out. Was she as happy with her life as I was with mine? I would like to think that if I met her, perhaps by happy accident, we would be comfortable with each other because a long time ago we shared a little bit of our lives.

Just in case you are wondering, her name was Marjorie, and she was a red head. Claire knows all about my life, including my school romance, and now and then she kids me about my slight, very slight mind you, penchant for redheads.

So if asked, I tell my friends to be careful with a new relationship because if they give a little piece of their heart to another, it is likely that they will never get it back.
My friend, Grace, articulates the journey from the devastation of grief to the reality that new love is possible.

I lost three wonderful spouses during my life. These times were both zeniths and nadirs. When my first husband died young from agonizing pancreatic cancer, it took over a year for me to believe that he was gone, much less to accept his death. I never thought I would marry anyone else, and I didn’t know that it was possible to love again – only to survive, raw survival at that.

I recall discovering a leak in the bathroom ceiling during that time. I estimated that the source was the flashing around the shingles which were up against the chimney. About noon on the next day, carrying roofing tar and tools in a bag around my waist, I climbed the extension ladder and set about sealing the place where a shingle had curled outward.

Suddenly, I was consumed by emotion. My grief broke into a prolonged session of despair as I sat there on a high slanting roof overlooking beautiful Queen Anne Park. My straw hat fell off and rolled over the edge. My eyes were swollen shut from weeping. I couldn’t breathe. My head was splitting. Never have I felt so desolate and abandoned, crying like a baby for the man that I couldn’t have back and whom I needed so desperately.

In time, I lifted my head to locate the ladder for the trip down. The ground was so far below that fear now crept in. I was on the second-story roof. I hadn’t looked down as I climbed up, but it was now almost time for the kids to return from school. I had to become the Rock of Gibralter again, so I turned into a rock. Still, the depth of mourning that I experienced that day is fresh in memory and marks an emotional watershed.

My second love tracked me down and, eventually, he knocked on my door and asked to come in. He told me about the difficulties he had in finding me. I served him tea. I later realized that what he really needed was a stiff Scotch. But there stood love - on the doorstep; it found me – otherwise, I might yet be lost.

I know a lot about loving. I know a lot about dying and letting go. I know that love and truth can move mountains, even at the end of life. To love enough to be willing to share death is the ultimate triumph of the human spirit. It creates a union of mutual need and hope - not hope for more life, for that is not to be, but rather hope for dignity, freedom from pain, and for a constant and loving hand along that final path. It is difficult to be strong, continuously, for a dying loved one, but we do discover resources and reserves of courage even when we think that the well has run dry.