After my husband died, I gradually found my emotional support person

By Michelle Kitz

When my husband died just a couple of weeks before his 50th birthday, it tore a hole through me. I couldn’t believe he was gone. One minute we were eating dinner and watching television, and the next, a frantic 911 call, paramedics, a policeman, my friends, the hospital ER, then … shock.

We’d had emergencies before. The emergency room was familiar to me. But this time was so different.

My friends and family gathered around me. One of my friends quite literally held me together those first few days after. After. Once, the “before time” meant before COVID, but now, it’s before he was stolen from me.

Grief can be like standing with your back to the ocean, with your feet just in the water. You can’t see the big waves when they come, so when they come, it’s so much more terrible.

Friends and family must return to their regular lives. They couldn’t stay with me forever. But one friend … he’s a divorced bachelor with grown kids, and he lives alone. He offered a gift. He said, “Come over any time, as long as I’m home.” And I accepted that offer.

I’ve known him almost as long as I knew my husband. We all met because of Dungeons & Dragons. We’d played the game together for more than 25 years. And this friend, he was part of that, on and off, though we hadn’t talked to him much in the last couple of years.

When the grief was overwhelming, I would call him and ask if I could come over. We’d sit on the couch and watch TV. He’d let me cry and talk. Then, one evening, when I told him I just needed to be held, he did. He’s the best at hugs. Being squeezed tight is comforting in a way that nothing else is. He was the perfect emotional support person.

Grief develops a scar. The pain becomes a dull ache that flares up sharply when you aren’t expecting it. But it becomes manageable. Over time.

We have a lot in common, my friend and I. We both love role-playing video games. We’re childish a lot of the time. When I brought over colored pencils and coloring pages, he was happy to join in. We love road trips and seeing quirky things. And he’s always understanding when the grief strikes.

It took a little time. After all, my husband was his friend, and I was a vulnerable widow, but eventually, we became closer. He’s become my Companion. We still live in separate houses. But I visit almost every Friday night and leave Saturday morning. We talk for at least a couple of hours every single night. And I still go over to his house when the sadness is too much–though that’s less often now, nearly three years later.

When I reached my 50th birthday, we drove to the Grand Canyon and many other places together. It was beautiful, even though I was sad that my husband didn’t make it to 50. We’ve had other trips, visited museums, and had other adventures. We’ve attended weddings and other events together. We have so much fun, just being ourselves.

I don’t know what the future holds. None of us do. But every day, I am grateful for the man I call my Companion. Love doesn’t always look like what you’d expect. And sometimes, it’s there just when you need it most.