On a recent flight home from a conference, I watched the original “Karate Kid” movie. It took me down memory lane in a scene where the main character, Daniel, is at a roller rink with his girlfriend. When I was in high school, I would go to the roller rink with some friends every Saturday afternoon. We would skate when the neon sign said, “All Skate,” and sit on the bench when it said, “Couples Only.”

Being a widow takes us out of the Couples Only category. Part of the grief journey when you lose your spouse is the loss of identity of being part of a couple. There is a radical change in how you see yourself. You were seen as a couple by others, and so, of course, you saw yourself as a unit. Like going from the carpool lane to the single lane, it means we steer in a different direction.

Our identity change as a single person doesn’t happen overnight. And there will be a wave of emotions to go along with the process. When I see couples at a restaurant or at the store, I sense a deep longing for what I no longer have; envy and anger sprout up. We are human and hurting. When we are no longer invited to join the couple's events at church. It cuts deep. Our loss is magnified under the lens of a couple's world.

When I googled the percentage of widowed women, approximately 69% to 87% of women aged 65 and older are widowed. We are definitely not alone. New connections with other women are vital as we forge our new identity. Something special happens when we share a meal or connect with someone who is on the grief journey. Last weekend, I enjoyed a dance performance and a lovely meal with three friends who have each lost their spouse. We applauded, laughed, and ate together. As I went to bed that night, I had a deep sense of gratitude.

We will always miss our spouse and the life we once had. Amidst the loss, there is also the opportunity to discover what remains. We can be grateful for what we still have and discover a different life knowing we are not alone.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

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Last month I had a garage sale. My last garage sale was 10 years ago, and it was time to go through stuff again to lessen the load of things I no longer needed. After my husband suddenly died in 2018, I went through most of his things in the house, but not in the garage. Tools, camping gear, and collectibles were in unopened boxes in the rafters and in cupboards. As I opened boxes, a flood of memories of camping trips with my husband and children came to mind. Grief was waiting in the wings, always slyly standing by,

One item I had kept was my husband’s bicycle. He had it before we met, and it was a staple in our garage, hanging upside down from the rafters. It was just a thing, but the attachment was there because it was my husband’s. Grief appears to have tentacles.

As I looked around, I recognized that I kept all the stuff in the garage because it was my husband’s, not because I needed any of it. His bike, baseball hats, thermos, work shirts, and books, all of which allowed me to feel like I still had a connection with him. Strangely, it was like I checked a bag at the airport and got a ticket to claim my bag after my flight. But there would be no opportunity to retrieve my bag. The ticket was a permanent reminder of what I no longer had. The remnant surrounded me as I stood in the midst of my messy garage.

Creating an enduring connection with our loved one is part of the grief process. We each find our own unique way to keep them close. It’s what we do, holding onto things that are meaningful.

I gave my husband’s bike to someone who loves biking, and I kept a shirt and a hat that my husband wore. My connection with my husband isn’t just in stuff, but in the meaningful memories I carry with me as I move forward.