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I facilitate a Tuesday afternoon bereavement group. As well as hearing intimate stories and making new friends, I'm reminded that I'm often blasé about my almost fifty years of marriage with my husband, Jeff. Jeff claims that after each group I'm always nicer to him for the following 48 hours.
As group participants deepen with one another, links emerge. Common rituals, favorite camping spots, love of dogs: lives weave together in unexpected ways.
Last Tuesday, before leaving for group, I reached into the depths of the hall closet and grabbed the mandolin I haven't touched in fifteen years. Hoping to sell it, I added Foggy Mountain Music to my after-group errands list.
Before the group started, during what I call schmoozing time, one participant told me her favorite musician had died. I knew she liked bluegrass and asked if she played anything.
“No,” she sighed, “I wish I did. Actually, with Richard gone, I have time now.”
“What would you play if you started?” I asked.
Without hesitating she said, “I always wanted to play the mandolin.”
“Well, I happen to have one in my car!”
Sharing love and support, gaining relief from feeling alone and crazy, laughing again: Tuesdays weave lifestyles. And, with the re-homing of my mandolin, I enjoy yet another link to a larger community.
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