Our Story - Part One

Note: Our Story is one I've always felt needed to be told. Although many variables are in place here, it's mainly a story of how all the circumstances at the time led to a lasting friendship. It includes the mention of pain, loss, uncertainty, and fear, but it is about Friends.

"My name is Peggy and I lost my husband to cancer in June."

It was August 19, 1993. I'm convinced that I was introducing myself at a grief recovery seminar out of divine intervention. Yes, I'd planned on attending; I needed to learn how to cope with my loss, discover what was expected of grief, and how to continue living my life without my beloved husband. What I hadn't expected, was to have my world further rocked earlier that day with devastating news about my company. This, at a time when I was in the middle of moving the business to a new location due to circumstances out of my control.

I was shaken to my core with the news I'd learned. That news is not important now, except to reveal how I almost didn't go to the seminar. I remember driving there, out of a need to confront my grief, yet my mind so boggled by the day's events. I'll never forget how my foot shook so badly as I tried to keep it on the gas pedal as I headed to Duncanville for the seminar. The thought of food made me sick and I arrived there with an empty, churning stomach.

Much of that first meeting was a blur. The counselor went around the room asking us to give our name and tell who we lost, and when. There were a few who had lost a spouse like me, others who were dealing with the passing of a parent or other family member. In my muddled mind, I clearly heard one introduction and related to her. I could feel her pain.


"I'm Cheryl and I lost my husband to cancer in June."

I lost my husband to cancer in June. Besides saying almost the exact words I'd said, she also caught my attention when her voice, choked with tears, broke as she shared that one sentence. I knew instantly that we were in the same place, feeling the same loss, and hoping the seminar would show some magic way to take the hurt away.

After the introductions, the counselor explained the need to tell our stories, over and over if need be, so that healing could begin. She started with the first person seated in the semi-circle and asked that they tell their story. This continued until time to close the meeting. To my surprise and relief, my mind released some of its shock and preoccupation as I listened to all the expressed pain that surrounded me that night. I was definitely not alone.

I left that night without speaking to anyone, not even the woman who had caught my attention because we shared the same loss. I've learned that grief can be so draining. I wanted to reach out, but I discovered many times that I felt I had nothing to give. I was an empty vessel.

The following week, our second meeting, it was my turn to tell my story. I told about a fairytale marriage that had been cut short by pancreatic cancer. I told about the sheet metal business I'd been left with, not the ideal company for a woman. I shared my hurts and those of my children, how I became a nurse over night, and about my husband's Polish heritage, our age difference, and how none of it was ever an obstacle in our marriage. As the meeting ended, a man in the group told me how much he admired my strength and courage to continue running a sheet metal business in the absence of my greatest support. I thanked him, and left. There was so much on my mind that I still hadn't spoken to the woman named Cheryl.

The third week of the seminar arrived and it was Cheryl's turn to tell her story. Before she began, this woman who had never met me before turned to me and said, "You won't believe the similarities in our stories."

She had my rapt attention and I was stunned by what she revealed.