Don’t Call me a Widow – Part 19

Preparing

A year ago, life felt completely topsy‑turvy. Alex was moving from one city to another, shedding a toxic work environment, and stepping toward what would become one of the biggest and best decisions of his career. Back then, we didn’t know if Columbus—OSU—would be his landing place, but we crossed every finger and toe we had.

By August, the dust settled. The offer was real, the move was happening, and we helped Alex get settled just a few hours away. I’m not a religious person, but I do believe something larger than us was nudging things into place, bringing our family closer in a way we didn’t even know we needed. Rich was so looking forward to having Alex nearby, imagining the visits, the conversations, the simple joy of proximity.

He didn’t get the chance to experience that closeness, and that will always sting. But the nearness is proving to be a healing force for Alex and for me. Knowing we’re only two hours apart has given us a kind of emotional scaffolding—support we’ve leaned on as we navigate this new chapter without Rich’s physical presence.

As Alex prepares for his vacation this year, he’s coming home to Cleveland to spend time with me, reconnect with friends, and take some well‑earned R&R. After break, he’ll head back to campus as they gear up for another huge sports season—Buckeye Football included, of course.

I have no expectations for his visit. Preparation is minimal. What he needs most is space to relax, recharge, and simply be. Our home—and I—are just vessels helping steady the ship while he rests. My payment will come in the form of hugs from my son, and that is more than enough.

As a widow—yes, that detested term—I’ve learned how to navigate my daily life with a kind of mindful steadiness. I know I will have periods of loneliness, and I’ve learned to recognize them as they arrive. Instead of letting them swallow me, I pause, breathe, and become more intentional about how I respond to the emotions they trigger.

As a widow, I can spend my days in mournful grief, or I can turn my losses into a more meaningful journey. I may feel as if I’ve lost a limb, but that doesn’t mean I cannot strengthen the limbs I still have. I don’t have any more power than anyone else, but I am choosing to live.

Choose. Explore. Breathe. Reach out. These are the small, steady actions that keep me moving forward.  What about YOU?

Join me on this journey.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen

Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com