This has been on my mind. I went home to Colorado for my friend, Jessica's wedding. I grew up with Jess as part of the camping group, a group of around seven families that would go pop-up camping together every summer. We've gotten to the stage in life when some of the parents in the camping group have started to die. Glen Hoit died last year of pancreatic cancer. His wife, Terry, is one of the matriarchs in the group, maybe the matriarch. She's tough and brassy and, more intimidating than that, she's funny. Glen's death and absence is felt deeply by everyone, but especially by Terry of course.
She had to have someone sell Glen's truck when he died. She re-did the entire inside of her living room. She's an honest person and hasn't hid her feelings of grief. (Although anything she says usually has a laugh or a joke hot on its heels.)
The camping group, like my parents, doesn't really believe in divorce. Only one couple of the seven got a divorce, and that was late in life, once the kids had all gone to college. I am going through something of a divorce. I went home to Colorado and was around the camping group without my husband for the first time. Terry pulled me aside. She said,
"Have you noticed that, as a single gal, there are all these men waiting in the wings ready to help you out? They just come out of nowhere, dying to fix your problems."
The attention is different. I have noticed that. But the thing that stuck out to me about what Terry said was that she put the two of us in the same category. "Single gals." She lost her husband to cancer. I've sort of aimlessly squandered mine. But she put us on the same level. She said, "You're with me."
