On July 20th, I walked out of Michele Neff Hernandez’s keynote address at Camp Widow in San Diego to a text message indicating bad news back home. Thankfully, the text indicated my kids were okay. As I rode the escalator to a quieter part of the hotel my mind raced through scenarios of what the bad thing could be. On the other hand, I knew once I heard whatever it was there was no unlearning it. Surrounded by my Camp friends, I made the call.
Tony’s cousin, Moe, had passed away that morning from a heart attack at age 40.
This wasn’t just a random relative to Tony or me. When they were growing up, Tony was like a big brother to him. That closeness carried throughout their lives. (I hate writing that in the past tense.) I met Moe in high school. We used to go on float trips together. Tony and Moe loved competing against each other at BBQ contests. Tony was the godfather to Moe’s son. We quite literally share the same family and many friends.
Exactly three years and three months after losing Tony, Moe’s death is reverberating through the same circle. This one hurts. As much as I am hurting, I know Moe’s wife and son are feeling the pain every single second right now. As I got ready that night for the Camp Widow banquet, my heart was heavy knowing back home his new widow was going to bed alone for the first time.
I was glad to be with such a strong support system for myself as I processed the news. At the same time, my heart was being tugged back home. I needed to give her a hug and be a listening ear for whatever she needed. It’s one thing to hear the statistic that 2,800 people are widowed every single day, it’s another to put a face with someone experiencing it in real time.
