{{item.title | uppercase}}

My First Widows Conference

The very first time I saw a post about the AWM Hope Conference was just a month or so after Norm passed. I hadn’t been searching for a widows conference nor did I really have a desire to be in a room full of other widows, yet something drew me in and I knew I needed to be one of the first to register.

So, I put the opening day of registration on my calendar and when that day rolled around, I registered for my first widows conference….

• not knowing a single soul that would be there,
• not knowing that it would change my life,
• not knowing that I would make lifelong friends,
• not knowing that I was going to experience community in a way I had never experienced,
• not knowing I would one day be invited to join the ministry team….

All I knew was I had to be there. Not necessarily that I wanted to be there, but I knew I needed to be there.

The Drive

I remember as I drove up to Denton that Tuesday morning, I cried over half the way there. I was angry, frustrated, hurting, and feeling all the things.

I didn’t want to attend a widow conference and certainly didn’t want to qualify for one. It all felt so unfair on a level I didn’t even have words for yet.

Here I was 47 years old with two children still at home, and our husband/daddy who had adored, cherished, and loved us well was now gone. Our dreams felt demolished and the life we had built together felt shattered. And here I was, left alone to pick up all the broken and scattered pieces.

So Much Hard

Grief at that stage is hard and heavy. It was so difficult walking into that conference center for the first time. The weight on my shoulders, the heaviness of my heart made each step slow and painful. It felt like I had an elephant sitting on my slumped over shoulders.

I remember being greeted warmly and would like to think I returned a friendly greeting, but I actually don’t remember. The brain fog was so thick.

Community

But as I walked into that room with over 40 other widows, without speaking a word, I knew I had found community. We ranged in age, circumstances, and timelines, but I knew I had found a space where I didn’t have to explain why I was so exhausted nor justify the many tears. I didn’t feel the need to be strong or hide how I was feeling. And I didn’t have to clean up my grief so others were more comfortable.

I didn’t have to because every woman in that room was walking a similar path and had experienced the excruciating loss of their husband. Each lady was living with the impact of that loss daily. And each one was on a journey to healing….just like I was.

And somehow, being in that room lifted something. Not the grief, no, the grief was still there. But the loneliness, the aloneness, and the isolation. That’s what shifted. And for the first time since Norm passed, I didn’t feel like I was the only one trudging through the valley of the shadow of death, with all its muck and mire. We were all in it together, witnessing and bearing one another’s burdens.

This was God’s word made real:

“Bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ”
Galations 6:2 (ESV)

Permission to Heal

Looking back, I realize it was one of the best decisions of my life. Not because it erased the pain or magically fixed the grief, but because it reminded me, I wasn’t alone.

• It introduced me to women that became lifelong friends.
• It gave me language for what I was experiencing and taught me I wasn’t losing my mind.
• It gave me permission to grieve honestly.
• It gave me permission to heal.

And in time, it gave me the opportunity to serve other widows walking the same painful path.

If you are a widow, please consider joining us. I know how hard it can be to even think something like this. We don’t want to qualify to attend, we didn’t ask for this story, and we didn’t choose this road. But if there is even the slightest nudge in your heart, please pay attention to it. Sometimes the bravest, most life-giving thing we can do in grief is walk into the room.

Join us in the room that allows space for hope and healing, laughter and tears, honoring what was, learning how to navigate what will be, finding the sweetest community, and creating lifelong friendships that feel like oxygen.

Heavenly Father, we thank You for creating such a beautiful community of women who sit shoulder to shoulder, making space for each other in both grief and laughter. We thank You that healing happens inside this beautiful community that You have brought together, and we ask that You nudge hearts and open doors for those who need to join us in April. Thank you for what I already know is going to be a beautifully healing conference. In Jesus’ name, Amen.