“Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.” (Kansas, 1977)
During the fleeting moments between then and now, if we are fortunate, we make memories before life pushes us through another door. This past weekend, I met up with seven friends in Phoenix, Arizona to do just that; hang out, talk, and celebrate each other with a toast.
Our time together felt like a whirlwind. And, the next thing I knew, I was strolling through the double glass doors at the airport, heading for home.
These meaningful connections enhance the quality of our lives. Two years ago, I met this incredible group of women in an Alliance of Hope support group for widows called “Finding Your Way.” We formed a bond through conversations we had via Zoom during an 8-session workshop. We didn’t want it to end! So, when the course was complete, we decided to form our own group, “The Sisters of Solace.”
As they say, we had “won the lottery that no one wants to win.” Our respective partners had ended their lives and left us to pick up the pieces in a world where the stigma attached to suicide is so profound that it left each of us apprehensive to discuss our personal stories. Left to our own devices, we sought comfort from the Alliance of Hope.
From that comfort, we found a safe space to share our traumatic losses with each other. Eventually, the conversations took us from tears to laughter, from doubt to possibility, and from an internet relationship to a full, warm-bodied union.
When I first met these wonderful women, I was very reserved and walked around wearing a mask of false happiness. Of these 8 women, I was the longest suicide loss survivor, as my significant other had ended his life on January 27, 2020. I had never been the “longest” anything before, so I felt like I needed to present a brave and resilient demeanor. I wanted everyone to think I was okay, but I wasn’t.
Soon the mask fell away and more of the sadness and loneliness seeped into our conversations. I remember one support session where I confessed that I would trade anything to have my old life with my spouse back.
As we became more comfortable with each other, we thought about meeting in person. We entertained the idea for a while. At first, it seemed impossible because we all live in different parts of the United States and Canada. But, as Audrey Hepburn would say, “Nothing is Impossible. The word itself says I’m Possible.”
Yes, indeed, it was possible. Our desire to meet in person was strong enough to motivate us to plan a weekend trip to Phoenix, Arizona.
Our gathering triggered powerful emotional responses as well as an abundance of laughter and tears. We shared things we have never shared before and we learned so much about each other.
We spent the weekend talking, laughing, dancing, and telling funny stories. Although our ages range from 46 to 85, we sometimes discovered that we have more in common than we realized. We played a trivia game and one of the women went around the room asking us who our favorite musical group is. My 85-year-old friend said, “Mine’s old-fashioned.” I thought she was going to say, “Lawrence Welk.” Instead, she said, “the one with Mick Jagger.” “The Rolling Stones!” I shouted. “They’re my favorite band, too!”
More importantly, we understand each other. We know the secret pain of losing a loved one to suicide and the fear of abandonment that this type of death inflicts upon the living. We are united by an unusual bond that cannot be formed under random circumstances. It is unique to our circle of friends.
We spent most of the weekend lounging around on the couch and by the pool, talking about things we had never shared with each other before, and the conversations flowed naturally.
Our time together was priceless, and the goodbyes were exceptionally painful. Breaking away from each other was unexpectedly difficult. In the midst of our goodbyes, we found ourselves planning our next gathering. And, you know what? “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” (The Rolling Stones, 1971)
The hope of seeing each other again helps us move forward and cope with the daily reminder of the love we have lost. Yet, despite that loss, there is a friendship we have found.
