After Maureen loses her husband, her son encourages her to move closer to him and his family.
So, she packs up her entire life and moves into a neighborhood closer to him.
But as she gets settled, she realizes that the people are not as friendly as they seem. Can Maureen win them over, or should she move again?
Imagine finding yourself in the twilight of your life, in a new place — without your husband of 50 years.
Recently, William, my husband, passed away, leaving me in our huge house in Virginia. I’ve been around for a long time, and I’ve had my heart broken by many things.
But nothing prepares you for losing your spouse.
“Mom, please,” my son, Mark, said on the phone. “I need you to consider moving. Just come and be closer to us — the kids will love having you here.”
“I don’t want to lose my independence, Son,” I said.
“Your father and I promised not to get involved in your life like that.”
“You don’t have to live with me,” he chuckled. “I’ll find you a place close by. I’ll start looking and send you options.
Okay? Please, Mom.”
I had to give in. At seventy years old, and although I felt absolutely fine and healthy, I didn’t know if living by myself, so far away from Mark, was a good idea.
“Fine,” I said.
“You can start looking, and I’ll start sorting things out here.”
When William passed, a part of me did too. The world was suddenly less vibrant, the days seemed longer, and the silence in our home became suffocating.
I spent evenings in the kitchen, making fresh batches of scones — more than I could eat, prompting me to send them over to my neighbors.
We were all extremely close, and William and I often threw parties for everyone in our backyard.
“You’re really going to leave us, Maureen?” my neighbor and close friend, Shelley, said.
“It’s not set in stone,” I said, pouring tea into cups for us. “But it makes more sense for me to be around Mark.
We’re not getting younger.”
“Then, you’ve got to throw another legendary party before you leave,” Shelley smiled.
The truth was that William and I had been quite popular in Virginia. Our barbecue restaurant was a beacon for all enthusiasts from across the state. We also had a range of spice rubs which sold well in supermarkets.
William always tested our new products on our neighbors during our dinners.
“Our friends will be honest about it, Maureen,” he always said, his hands usually rubbing the spice into the meat.
Eventually, I started packing things away.
I donated some of William’s clothes and gave away other unnecessary items that wouldn’t make the move with me. The more I packed, the heavier my heart grew.
I’d miss everything about my life here. But the consolation prize was my grandchildren.
“Mom, I found the perfect house,” Mark said.
“I’ve viewed it, and I think you’ll love it.”
The next thing I knew, I was packing up my life and heading to California for a new adventure.
A few weeks into my new neighborhood, California presented a challenge I had not anticipated. Having sold our restaurant a long time ago, I had plenty of free time. Mark handled all the finances, so all I wanted to do was knit away on my new porch.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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