• Grandpa Tom, father of DC widow writer Marjorie Brimley Hale
    From the Archives

    From the Archives: Claire Doesn’t Want the Goldfish Crackers

    We never really talked about the division of labor in the house when my dad arrived, as I basically needed him to do everything Shawn and I had once done together: packing lunches and folding laundry and walking kids to neighborhood birthday parties. When Shawn was in the hospital, and then immediately after he died, my dad never asked much about what he needed to do. He mostly just figured it out. My youngest son, Tommy, was in preschool at our church, a short walk from our house. I couldn’t face the sympathetic faces I knew I’d encounter at the school, so I let my dad take over the task…

  • Mother of DC widow blog writer Marjorie Brimley Hale takes photo
    From the Archives

    From the Archives: To Me, She Glowed From Within

    I was in the backseat and my father was driving. The car was a blue station wagon, the same car that half of the families in my hometown drove. The vinyl seat stuck to my 7-year-old legs even though the air conditioning was on in the car. The air conditioning was always on in the summer, as my mom would get upset if it got too warm in the car. I was sweaty from running around with my friends in the warmth of the early evening, so even with the cool air, my legs were plastered to the seat. I lifted them up over and over again, trying to find…

  • Bedroom with bed for blog by DC widow writer Marjorie Brimley Hale
    Ask A Widow

    Ask a Widow: Photos in the Bedroom

    Sometimes, I get questions from readers that really made me think. But there’s one that I got a few weeks ago that made both Chris and I think. Here’s what the email said (details have been changed, though I got permission from the writer to reprint his correspondence with me): My name is Michael and I’m the hopeful fiance to a widow. By way of some background, my love – Sarah – lost her husband Robert in 2019.  She told me your blog helped her immensely so I’m writing to you. We started dating about a year after her husband died and have progressed to where we are today, living together…

  • Fall leaves for blog by DC widow writer Marjorie Brimley Hale
    From the Archives

    From the Archives: Dating…It’s Just Like Improv!

    “Just make sure you’re always meeting in a public place,” my dad said, one night after I told him about an upcoming date I had. He was lying in the recliner, dressed in an old t-shirt and some sweatpants, an outfit that he only wore to bed. It was 8:30, which was close to his bedtime, and I teased him a little. “What do you think I’m going to do, have some guy I’ve never met over for 5:30 dinner with the kids?”  He didn’t reply. He merely raised his eyebrows and slightly pursed his lips. I knew he thought online dating was risky. “Just look, Dad,” I said, showing…

  • DC widow blog writer Marjorie Brimley Hale hugs husband at wedding in field
    New Perspectives

    Rule of Life

    Every year, I make New Year’s Resolutions. Actually, that’s not totally true. The year Shawn was dying, I didn’t make any resolutions. I didn’t spend even one second thinking about them. I just wanted him to stay alive, which I don’t think really qualifies as a “resolution”. But the next year, I made a resolution, one that was quite straightforward. I called it the “Year of Yes” – something I had heard of online, and resolved to say “yes” to everything that I could. It was an attempt to create a new life for myself, a year after Shawn’s death. It didn’t work out perfectly, but it helped me move…

  • Chris Hale, husband of DC widow blog writer Marjorie Brimley Hale
    From the Archives

    From the Archives: A First (Platonic) Night With Chris

    Chris and I were friends for well over a year before I thought it could be something more. Though we’d met years prior, I’d never talked to him for more than a few minutes at a time, usually when I was dropping off a kid for a playdate at his sister Becky’s house and he happened to be in town. But about a year after Shawn died, I was flying through Atlanta, where he lived, and I had a day-long layover. Becky suggested I stay with Chris, and before I had the chance to ask for his number, he texted me. Hi Marjorie—it’s Becky’s brother, Chris. I hear you’ll be…