Lorraine Beatty - Her Fresh Start Family

The ladies made their way into her office and got comfortable. Nina took a seat and glanced at the door. Officially, there were eight women in the group, but according to Kathryn’s notes, not all of them attended regularly. “How many more are you expecting?”

Evelyn placed her purse on the floor beside her chair. “Jen and Trudy are coming, but Rona has a school thing, and Elise has a migraine.”

Nina checked her file. “And what about Yvonne Monroe?”

The women all wore silly smiles. “I don’t think she’ll be back. She’s met someone and it’s getting serious. I think we’ll hear wedding bells soon.”

Nina remembered several notes in Yvonne’s file. Her husband had been murdered. Her file was the thickest. She had a long, hard climb back to mental health. It was good she was transitioning forward into a new life, but the thought of doing the same for herself knotted Nina’s stomach.

The door opened once more, and two women hurried in. The first was a small woman wearing a simple skirt and blouse and dark-rimmed glasses. The other was plump with graying hair and a cheery smile. Her perfectly tailored linen outfit suggested she was well-off.

“Sorry we’re late.” The older woman grinned and hurriedly took a seat. “I’m Jen. And she’s Trudy.”

Trudy took a seat in one of the side chairs slightly apart from the others, who had gathered on the sofa. Nina made a mental note of this, and then settled in, being sure to make eye contact with each woman and ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m glad to meet you. Kathryn tells me you’ve been a group for a number of years.”

Jen nodded. “We’ve had some come and go. Several have remarried and are living happily-ever-after.”

“Since I’m the new one here, why don’t we start by telling me what you usually talk about.”

The women shared glances and knowing smiles.

Evelyn spoke first. “Well, actually, we want to get to know you.”

Paula leaned forward. “Before we spill our guts, so to speak.”

“Don’t listen to them.” Jen held up a hand. “They’re just nosy. Don’t tell them a thing.”

Nina stifled a smile. She’d been worried, but they all seemed relaxed and made her feel at ease. Even comfortable.

“So, tell us about you.” Evelyn clasped her hands together and smiled. “All we know is that you’re a widow like us. Kitty wouldn’t tell us any more than that.”

The warmth faded and turned to icy alarm. They knew. She hadn’t planned on sharing that information so soon. Not until she’d grown more comfortable with the women.

Trudy nodded. “We were glad to hear that. You’ll be able to share things we haven’t experienced yet.”

No, she couldn’t. How could she when she’d never gone down that road? She didn’t understand anything about being a widow. She’d spent the last three years deliberately not understanding it.

“How long has it been?”

All five women had their eyes on her, waiting for her answer. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Three years.”

Jen sighed softly. “How did it happen?”

Please don’t make me say the words. “He was killed in Afghanistan.”

“I’m so sorry. My husband was a soldier, too. I understand.”

Nina expected to feel the searing pain of loss again, but Charlotte’s soft tone of understanding scrubbed off the sharp edges she usually encountered. The realization left an uneasy sensation in her chest. “Well, as much as I’d like to spend time getting to know each other, I think it best if we start our session. We only have an hour.”

“Well, then I’ll go first.” Evelyn took a deep breath and smiled. “This is my last meeting. I won’t be back.”

Mumbles of disbelief traveled around the room.

“Remember that job offer I had in Louisville? Well, I took it. I’m leaving Friday.”

The women quickly surrounded their friend and hugged her, expressing their joy.

Evelyn sat back down. “I was so dependent on my husband that, when he died, I was lost. I never believed I could do anything without him. It took me seven years, but here I am, ready to move away from the only home I’ve ever known and start a new life in a new city. And I’m excited.”

“I wish I was as brave as you.” Trudy adjusted her glasses. “I could never leave Hastings, let alone Mississippi. I’d be terrified.” She looked at Nina. “Were you scared to leave Chicago and come here?”

Caught off guard, Nina searched for a proper response. She was supposed to facilitate this session, not participate in it, but the women expected an answer. “Not really. Though I didn’t think about it too much. Kathryn called, and I was able to help, so I came.”

Trudy sank back into her chair. “Everyone is braver than me.”

Jen reached over and squeezed her hand. “Nonsense. You just need to build your self-confidence.”

Paula nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with staying in one place your whole life. Remember, Kitty said, we each have a growing trail to walk, and it’s different for each of us. It just takes some of us longer to deal with the grief.”

“Or not deal.” Charlotte spoke up. “I wish I’d faced it sooner. It’s been ten years, and I’m only now starting to move forward. What does that say about me?”

Nina listened to the various conversations and the admissions as the women shared their varied journeys down “the widow’s walk to wholeness,” as Kathryn called it. Before she knew it, the session was over, and she realized her anxiety had been for nothing.

As she lay in bed that night, their comments burrowed into her mind. She’d seen herself in each of the women. Denying the reality, afraid to move forward, feeling lost and inadequate. She’d always believed she was alone in those feelings. Despite knowing the stages of grief and recovery, they never seemed to apply to her, only her patients.

The women were as warm and friendly as Kathryn had said. The session had gone better than she’d anticipated. It had practically run itself. All she had to do was observe and record, and offer an encouraging word.

Next week she’d be far less anxious about the group. They might even give her more to think about. But she’d have to be more careful about sharing her own story. She wasn’t ready for that and probably never would be.

* * *

He was running, but his feet weighed a ton, making forward progress difficult. He saw the soldier fall. He shouted, but he was too late. Two soldiers, hands clasped in the dust and debris of the explosion. He’d failed in his mission. He’d vowed to protect the man with his life, but he’d allowed his chaplain to be killed.

Bret sat up in the bed, sweat running down his neck and beading up on his forehead. It had been a long time since he’d had the dream. Months. Why had it resurfaced now?

Sleep now was pointless. He got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of tea. The house was stuffy, so he opted for the cool darkness of the back porch. A few moments later, the back door opened and his father joined him. Bret willed him to leave, but he knew he wouldn’t and that talking about the dream usually helped—some.

“Same old dream or something new?”

“Same.”

“How long you plan on nursing this load of guilt?”

“Dad, don’t.”

“It was an accident. Not your fault. His choice. Not yours.”

“My responsibility. My failure. Only two military chaplains killed in battle in the last fifty years, and one of them was mine.”

“The army doesn’t blame you, and the good Lord has forgiven you, so you must like carrying that weight on your back, or you’d let it go.” Dad stood. “Same way you keep blaming yourself for Sylvia walking out. Her fault. Not yours.”