When I was a young girl, as I began forming friendships, I believed, without question, that those bonds would last a lifetime. I imagined these friends standing beside me through every milestone: weddings yet to come, children growing up together, husbands becoming friends as well. There were one or two who knew my deepest secrets, and I knew theirs. They knew me at the very beginning, when we were young, hopeful, and just at the beginning of everything.
But by the end of high school, life began to shift. Some went off to college; others chose different paths. Gradually, and almost without noticing, we grew apart. Over time, I was left with only one or two childhood friends. As I entered my twenties, new friendships emerged, people whose interests mirrored my own at that stage of life. Some of those friendships carried into my thirties, forties, and even my fifties. Of course, I was no longer the same person at forty that I had been at eight or even eighteen. That is the natural rhythm of life: evolution, growth, wisdom gained through experience. We develop insight, resilience, and life skills shaped by everything we’ve lived through. Along the way, we encounter both joy and challenge. And sometimes, the people who have known us the longest continue to see us as we once were, not as who we have become. They may reference past versions of us, old stories, old behaviors, long after we’ve outgrown them. They may relate to us in ways that feel familiar to them but no longer resonate with us. Eventually, there may come a moment when you decide not to include your childhood friends in spaces you now share with new people, simply because the shared experiences and interests are no longer there.
Then life delivers its most profound turning points.
When you lose a spouse, as I did, you enter a season of transformation unlike any other. The people who believe they know you best may not recognize the depth of change taking place within you. Because of the longevity of those relationships, they may feel entitled—licensed, even—to speak in ways that are deeply insensitive.
“Why are you still wearing your wedding ring?” someone asked me just six months after my husband died-because I’m still married, I thought, while navigating my widow fog. ”Well, God gave you a shot,” another said. And after a year, I heard, “You’re still thinking about that?”—meaning my husband, my loss. These words were not spoken by strangers. They came from friends who had known me the longest, who believed they knew me best.
In time, I realized that as I changed, we had become strangers to one another. They were holding onto a version of me I had released long ago. I could no longer take advice from people who did not know the woman I was becoming,especially as grief reshaped me in ways I could not yet fully understand.
As I formed new connections, I found myself among people who met me where I was now. They knew nothing of my past except that I was a woman who had lost her husband and was learning how to move forward. Their understanding of me was rooted in the present, not in memory
As we age, friendships naturally evolve—not because of how long we’ve known one another, but because of the depth of the bond that can be formed. Time, in this season of life, feels more precious. We are no longer building friendships with the luxury of endless tomorrows, and that awareness changes everything.
What gives a friendship its value is no longer longevity, but presence. It’s the quality of the moments shared, the honesty exchanged, the safety felt, and the way two people show up for one another. In this way, a friendship can reach the depth of one that took years to build—sometimes in a surprisingly short span of time. There is a quiet beauty in this kind of connection. It reminds us that strong bonds are not measured in decades, but in meaning. And when the connection is real, time simply becomes the backdrop—not the proof—of friendship.
In my new beginning, I was welcomed by women who saw me clearly—without expectation, without judgment. There were no rules about how I should grieve or timelines I should follow. There was only a new normal, free from old narratives and assumptions.
When you lose a spouse, it’s important to know that some of the friends and even family, you once relied on may not understand the turbulence unfolding within you. They may not recognize that a quiet revolution is taking place—one that will eventually reveal a new version of you.
We must learn to protect our peace and honor our need for space as we navigate life without our partner. And along the way, we must remain open to new friendships—connections that embrace who we are and who we are becoming. When old friendships begin to feel heavy or painful, it is okay to step back. Take a fresh look at your life and ask yourself whether you wish to remain tethered to the past, or move forward with people who see you, value you, and are willing to walk beside you into your next chapter.
It’s good to remember in general, not only in these kinds of loss situations, that nobody wants to be remembered or reminded of their fails. No one wants to be reminded of past missteps or old stories that have long since passed and have nothing to do with who they have become.
I am grateful to have dear friends, men and women, who have stood the test of time. They have weathered births, deaths, sorrow and sheer joy with me. They know how to bend with life’s unpredictable winds without letting me fall. They recognize who I am now, empowered, strong, focused, confident and, most importantly, they continue to grow with me and cheer me on.
Author’s Note: The main photo features of varying degrees of longevity. Three are widows, two I’ve known for 50plus years ,one for over 13 years, one who dm’d me after discovering my Blooming Widow site via social media. She has since become a dear friend and one whom I met during the Pandemic, when she was assisting me over the phone. Unbeknownst to her, she would join the widows club and we would continue to bond until finally meeting last year.
