March Storyteller: I Miss My Friend. Overcoming loss while uncovering a fulfilling future.

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Dear Reader,

I was well on my way to wrapping up the March Storyteller, and the topic I was writing about was “the changing responsibilities of schools.” Halfway through the writing of it, the thought hit me hard, “I want to write about my husband and how his passing has affected me. My husband, Kim, has been on my mind continually lately, more strongly than ever. It’s not surprising to me. He passed away five years ago this week. Our oldest daughter, Jenn passed away nineteen years ago this summer. That’s a lot of loss, and, as a result, my life has changed so significantly that I hardly recognize it anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I am blessed with three wonderful children, their spouses, and between them, I have seven grandchildren who fill my heart. My golden retriever, Walter, and my cat, Duckie, are great companions. I have a wonderful job at a school in St. Louis. It is my dream school, a school that offers the most loving community I have ever experienced. It wrapped me in love right from the beginning, and I feel at home there everywhere I turn. One of my daughters and her children live with me now, and those grandchildren have the benefit of attending this remarkable, love-filled school. I have everything to be grateful for. 

My new life is very different from my life with Kim, and to regain that sense of love and companionship, I look for the good that continually presents itself in my life. I have come to understand that God always finds ways to make us feel whole and loved. 

There remains one drawback in all of this…Kim is missing from my life and my future. I don’t believe I ever fully adjusted when we lost our daughter, Jenn. Losing a child, even an adult child, is an indescribable heartbreak. Looking for the good has helped me understand that losing Jenn brought our family closer than we had ever been, and we were always very close. I think of her each day. I remember so vividly, after Jenn passed on, the many times that Kim and I fell into each other's arms and quietly wept. Our family was our refuge, and we filled that void together.

At the time, the only way I could describe the empty feeling inside me was that it felt like I was dragging my heart behind me on a string. Simple habits, like going to church on Sundays, became impossible. The act of walking through those hallowed doors brought with it so many family memories. Instead, we began driving out to the lakefront on Sunday mornings, where Kim and I would sit together and read the weekly Bible Lesson. We never lost our faith, but for me, that divine understanding needed to be rebuilt.

Together, we found a new kind of sanctity, a quiet holiness. We held our private lakefront service for years afterward. I miss those lakefront mornings. When I revisit all the places and memories that we shared, I can almost feel his presence. I still seek his guidance and take comfort from sorting mentally through our past conversations to gain counsel from his wisdom, for he was a very wise man. God always finds a way to bolster, lead, and cheer me.  I am reminded now that it was God all along.

Two weeks after the school I was leading closed for the COVID pandemic, Kim passed on.  We spent those two weeks in isolation together.  That time was filled with an enhanced closeness, blissfully unaware of what was to come. I am so grateful for that sweet time we spent, just the two of us. 

After a year of widowhood, I left the school I was leading. It wasn’t the same, and in the process, I gave up our home on campus.  I soon found myself building a new home designed with everything I need to make it my happy place. I think it would have been ideal for the two of us. It sits on a still lake. I am surrounded by beauty. 

Kim was my heart’s desire. We shared an eternal bond, a spiritual closeness. I would assign the bald eagle to Kim as his animal spirit. I often see a bald eagle soaring over the lake in my new New Orleans backyard. It reminds me that love is ever present. The sunsets from my back porch are peaceful and magnificent. My children and grandchildren love to visit my homes in both New Orleans and St. Louis. I have landed in two perfect spots. God supplies all good.

I have returned to my Church when I am in New Orleans, and I attend a wonderful Church when I am home in St. Louis. I often visit the college chapel where Kim and I were married (pictured above). Church has been a big part of my healing. Kim and I met in my freshman year of college, and we became fast friends long before we started dating. He graduated a year ahead of me, and we were married in the College Chapel the day after my graduation.

Over the eight years after we married, we brought our four children into the world. Life was quickly filled with parenting, working hard, playing, and partnering. We shared a faith that carried us through all of the challenges of raising a busy family. As our children grew up, we grew even closer together. We held hands everywhere we went together. I think I miss most the easy fit of his hand as he slipped it into mine wherever we went. We held hands while sitting watching TV, driving in the car, worshiping in Church, and we wrapped an arm around each other as we fell asleep each night.

Sometimes I still struggle with that sense of loss. How do you heal the kind of grief that comes after forty years of marriage? We spent a lifetime loving each other. We had our challenges, as every marriage does. Ours was blessed with an ability to overcome them and to lean forward with love. Now I look for new ways to share my love, and new avenues to receive love. I always find them.  They are not the same, but they do fill me up.

One hot and steamy summer a couple of decades back, Kim and I had the opportunity to listen to a new country singer in a local park. In the years since, I became familiar with these lyrics from one of his songs titled “I Miss My Friend” by Darryl Worley: 

I miss my friend 

The one my heart and soul confided in 

The one I felt the safest with 

The one who knew just what to say to make me laugh again 

And let the light back in 

I miss my friend. 

I couldn’t help but write to acknowledge that, yes, I miss my friend. He always found a way to “let the light back in.”  Kim isn’t holding my hand, but he still lights up my heart. 

Sometimes loss tries to define me, but I won’t let it.  Life does move forward after losing your precious ones. It is different. I have lost, but I have also gained the understanding that God continually finds ways to preserve the bond between us.

I now fully realize that the love I shared with Kim, our love, is God’s love…His gift. I am grateful for every gift that comes to me, and for knowing that we don’t really lose the ones we love if we keep seeking to let the light back in.

Until next time,

Merry

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Coming soon! Storyteller LIVE with special guest Mike Cobb. In this enlightening episode, we'll use the 2025 February Storyteller titled Diving into the Delta: A Liminal Moment in Education to guide our discussion around the change that must happen in education to prepare students for the future. 

Mike is a visionary leader with a track record of successfully steering schools towards organizational excellence. With over 35 years of experience, he has served in various roles, including accomplished classroom teacher, division head, admissions/enrollment leader, and Head of School. He is also an international speaker and was a key educational leader in the forward-looking NEOM project in Saudi Arabia.

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