The Merry Widows

It’s rare to meet a widow as young as I am.  I know two.  Randomly, they both live in Bozeman, Montana.

I have talked to both on the phone lots over the last year and a half or so, but had never actually met one of them, and the other one I had met once in 1998, long before either of us had even met our husbands, much less become widows.

I got to meet both of them last weekend.

I hitched a ride with my cousin to Bozeman and we planned a girl’s night.  I kept calling it my Wild Widow Weekend.

To get to meet them in real life, to get to hug them, to get to just sit and visit, to laugh (a lot) to get to cry together, was so amazing, there are no words.  We sat and talked and talked and talked.  They totally get it.  There is nothing off limits.  It was such a treat.  Such a blessing.  An unbelievable gift.  I am so thankful for these amazing women.

We are calling ourselves the Merry Widows.  You’re not jealous, because the cost of admission to our club is too high.  But, if you had seen how much fun we had on Saturday night, you might have been a little jealous.