For every woman over 50, grief often wears the heavy cloak of sadness and loneliness. These emotions can be debilitating, arriving unannounced through life’s harshest passages like loss, estrangement, and illness. Yet, it is nothing short of a marvel when we, as women, manage to find thoughts, if only for a few moments, and flickers of joy in the midst of sorrow.

Grief of a Great Love

Like some of you, I find myself consumed by grief, grief born of love. I am mourning my dearest companion, my beloved husband, my “Ultimate Concierge”, who is slowly slipping away due to vascular dementia. The conversations we once shared, full of wit and warmth, are now shadows. My North Star has dimmed with this loss.

Our once spirited conversations, filled with wit, wisdom, and warmth, have become echoes in my mind—whispers of a life we once lived. I replay them like cherished recordings I dare not forget. He was my anchor, my safe harbor, my guiding light. Now, I am left navigating the world with a compass that spins without direction. The silence between us is deafening.

This form of grief is cruel beyond measure. It is the grief of presence without connection, of love with no dialogue. It is the heartbreak of holding the hand of the one you love most in the world while knowing they are slowly drifting beyond the reach of your voice and your touch. I grieve not just who he is becoming, but all that we will never again share. That, darling, pierces me daily with a thousand tiny cuts the world cannot see.

Grief of Estrangement

In addition to the loss of my husband’s spark and warmth, I have suffered a different kind of death: emotional estrangement from my adult daughters and grandchildren. Adult child estrangement, a silent epidemic, affects millions of mothers and grandmothers across the world, yet so few speak of it.

Two of my closest friends have moved away, and another escapes winter in a warmer climate. I often feel a deeper loneliness because of their absence, though I remain surrounded by caring acquaintances and family through marriage. My grandsons and daughter-in-law from the Good family are loving and attentive. Still, I miss my daughters. I miss my grandchildren. I miss what could have been.

The Power of Hope

What keeps me moving through the grief? One word: hope.

Hope is my closest friend. She walks beside me through every shadowed valley and sits quietly with me during sleepless nights. She doesn’t speak loudly… no, she whispers, gently, persistently, reminding me to hold on, to breathe, to believe. Hope is in my bones, in every heartbeat, and in a thread that binds me to possibility.

My personal motto has become my daily guide: Stay aware, stay curious, and find delight in the smallest of wonders. A bird’s song while I am on a walk. The laughter of a stranger passing by. A breeze that feels like a blessing. These are the tender mercies I seek out, even in the darkest hours. What is your positive motto when the chips are down that keeps you in the hunt of life? Take out your journal and write your thoughts down.

I am deeply blessed with dear friends who span oceans and time zones; soul sisters who check in with a simple “Thinking of you,” or surprise me with a letter, a shared memory, or an invitation to laugh. Each text, every call, every email is like a candle lit in a darkened room. I am reminded that though I may walk this journey of grief, I am never truly alone. Hope makes sure of that.

Women Need Women

Darling, after 50, women need women more than ever. One close friend nearby—one kindred spirit—is invaluable. We also  must not overlook the value of acquaintances either. They are part of the mosaic of our social well-being.

When my dear friend Emily visited from out of town, she said simply, “You need a hug.” And she was right. Her presence softened my tears and her absence, once she left, made it clear: I need an Emily in my backyard.

Sisterhood, Wherever It Blooms

I’d like to honor the women who have filled the role of sisters in my life: Emily, Gail, Janice, Judy, Cherye, Carolyn, Sheila, Susan, Phyllis, Liz, Florence, and my daughter-in-law, Jami Good. These women are golden threads in the tapestry of my life. I call on them in joy and in grief. My good friend Barbara passed away, and I mourn her loss. Missing from this cherished list are my estranged daughters. A silent ache remains.

Now, I continue to nurture friendships old and new. I have soul sisters in South Carolina, Honolulu, California—women with whom I’ve walked life’s winding path. One such friendship, with Janice, blossomed in the most unique way. Janice and I went through school together but were not in the same crowd. She was the most popular girl in school. Fast forward many years later, I noticed her name pop up on HoneyGood when she wrote me a message. I answered and discovered she had read 99% of my blogs over the years!

I reached out to her and we have emailed our thoughts to one another almost weekly for over a year! A Diary of two women. She has become a sister I always wanted. She lives in South Carolina and we write to each other weekly. “Your soul sister from the North,” I sign. She replies, “Your soul sister from the South.”

The Changing Tide

Life, as it will, changes course. A tsunami of grief (estrangement and dementia) has tossed me ashore. Yet, like the sea, I too am capable of change. I will ride a new wave and I must.

Technology offers connection across miles. Thank goodness for phones, emails, Zoom, but they cannot replace having a cherished friend close by. With Emily and Jami gone, I know: I must seek new friendships in my hometown.

Creating Close Connections After 50

If you’ve recently moved, retired, lost your spouse, or are living with estrangement like me, you might feel adrift. Let me tell you what I’ve learned: deep friendships require time and effort. A researcher once claimed it takes eleven three-hour meetings within six months to transform an acquaintance into a close friend. Well, I’m not a robot. I’m a creative, soulful woman. I believe women know when they’ve met a kindred spirit. The connection is instant, and often mutual.

The formula for friendship is simple yet profound: duration and continuity. These build trust and with trust comes vulnerability, love, and loyalty.

Who She Is

I dream of a new close friend who mirrors me. A woman who wears no armor, who has blossomed into her second flowering, whose spirit is luminous and unshakable. She’s not defined by labels or fashion, but by depth, authenticity, and wisdom. She knows that life is not declining, but rather it is expanding! Maybe, just maybe, I will find her.

Hopefully, at some point, I will take the initiative to find her in my home town. My ultimate concierge always said,

“Nothing good happens by accident.When something is important—take your time.”

Grief as a Friend

Grief, darling, is not just sorrow. It is a sacred testament to love; a reflection of how deeply we have lived, how fiercely we have loved, and how profoundly we have lost. It is the soul’s way of saying, “That mattered.” Whether you grieve a lifelong partner slipping into silence, a treasured friend lost to time or distance, or an estranged child whose absence echoes louder than any words, know this: your grief is not weakness. It is remembrance.

Grief, as unbearable as it may feel, is proof that your heart has known great beauty. It arrives in waves, some gentle, some with force enough to knock the wind out of your spirit. Even in its most turbulent form, grief holds space for healing, for learning, for grace.

And, yes, grief has a twin: Joy. They coexist, as odd as that may sound. You may cry in the morning and laugh by afternoon. You may feel the ache of absence while your heart swells with gratitude for a memory that floats to the surface. This is not madness; this is the human experience in its most honest form. Allow yourself to sit with grief, but do not let her silence the voice of joy. They are both part of your story, and both deserve a seat at your table.

Grief Leads to New Beginnings

When Emily flew in to give me that hug, I felt a sacred connection, intimacy, support, and safety. My stress melted away. Emily is the essence of a true friend. Will I find that again in Chicago? Only time and effort will tell.

One thing is certain: we women are not meant to grieve alone. We are meant to lift one another, to hold hands as we navigate this unexpected chapter. And maybe, just maybe, in the ashes of grief, we find the seed of new beginnings.

Amen, amen.