Two Marcias in the Woods

One day I set out for a walk through my small neighborhood and into the wooded wetlands park nearby. At the mailboxes, I passed a woman walking a beautiful black-and-white springer spaniel. I’d seen her before but knew she didn’t live in our neighborhood. We exchanged a quick hello and went our separate ways.

Once in the park, our paths crossed again — she was chatting with a man as I passed by. Later, as I turned back toward home, we met once more, and this time we started talking.

After a few minutes, she said, “I lost my husband 27 months ago.”
I gasped. “So did I!” (Well, 28 months for me.)

We talked a little longer, sharing that instant understanding only two widows can. Then she held out her hand and said, “I’m Marcia.”

Another gasp. “So am I!”

It turned out we spell our names the same way, are the same age, and live barely a mile apart.

Since that day, we’ve become friends. She joined my book group, and I’ve introduced her to two other friends: one who lost her husband around the same time we did, and another who’s remarried after being widowed earlier. Now the four of us meet for potluck lunches and special events, cheering each other on through this new chapter of life.

I’m so glad I went for that walk in the woods.