Being a Widow – Part 9

My name is Karen, and I am a widow.

A Father’s Day note to my boys—

This is another one of our “firsts,” and we’re walking this new stretch of road together. Some moments may feel heavy, others may surprise us with lightness, and some may leave us unsure of what we’re feeling at all. That’s normal. What matters is that we keep moving with intention, choosing to live fully even when the path bends in ways we didn’t expect.

The father figures in our lives poured love, energy, and wisdom into us, and it’s on us now to carry that forward. I am deeply grateful for knowing and loving your dads—because without them, I wouldn’t have the two of you. Today, I honor both Bruce and Rich.

There was a time when I believed I might never find “my person,” and somehow I was blessed with two. Bruce and I had our difficult years, and I carried anger far longer than I needed to. Rich helped me soften that, helped me find kindness again for my first love and the father of my firstborn. He taught me how to move forward, how to choose compassion, how to look for goodness in others and in myself. I will always be grateful for that.

And today, I honor you—my sons. You’ve grown into good men despite the baggage I may have unknowingly placed on your shoulders. I never intended to make your lives harder; I was simply a parent doing the best I could with what I knew at the time. No parenting book in the world can teach you how to avoid mistakes. Life is full of them. We stumble, we learn, and if we’re lucky, we grow.

Today, I feel the weight of two truths — I am a widow, and I am an adult orphan. Father’s Day brings its own ache, because I no longer have my dad to sit with, laugh with, or hand another tie to that he’d never wear. And yet, even in that ache, I feel the presence of the men who shaped my life.

I was blessed with not just one father, but three. My own dad — my Pops — was my first safe place. His hugs were big and consuming, his kisses loud and sloppy, and his heart was the kind that made him a wealthy man in all the ways that matter. J. Harmon Moss loved deeply, cared widely, and always put others first. I miss him every single day. Like Rich, he walks with me still.

I also had two remarkable fathers‑in‑law. Larry, who was steady, kind, and always in my corner. And Mr. Ed, who embraced me as a daughter from the moment I entered his life. Their love added layers to mine, and I carry that with me.

And then there is Joel. This Father’s Day is the first without him, and my heart aches for his daughter, Rachael. My brother may not have been tall in stature, but he was enormous in spirit. He was the kind of man who would give you the shirt off his back without hesitation, because he truly believed you needed it more. I am grateful beyond words that he and I built a bond that lasted a lifetime. I carry him with me too.

Today is heavy, but it is also full — full of memory, full of love, full of the men who shaped my world. They are gone from sight, but never from me.

And yet, in the middle of all this remembering, there is a bright spot today. My big brother Gary is celebrating Father’s Day in his new home, finally close to family for the first time in more than 30 years. I pray that his health continues to stabilize, that his new chapter in Michigan brings him comfort, joy, and the sense of belonging he deserves. I’m already looking forward to traveling up there, spending time with him, and reconnecting with family soon.

Every morning we’re given a choice in how we greet the day. We can meet the dawn with heaviness, or we can meet it with intention. I’m choosing the path of seeking the best in myself, and I’m asking you to walk that path with me — one day, one breath, one choice at a time.

This is my journey. If you are walking this path too, I invite you to join me.

#YesICan Coaching with Karen
Email: Kh.yesican1@gmail.com