The Life Behind The Style
There’s a new style icon making the rounds in fashion, and she’s not 22. She probably has a signature perfume she’s worn for 30 years, a coat she paid too much for and would do it again, and absolutely no interest in being told what to wear.
Lately, fashion has been flirting with what some are calling nonna style. Think of it as a coastal grandmother after she’s had her espresso, traded the beach house for Milan, and decided a silk scarf and proper handbag wouldn’t kill her. It has the same grown-woman ease, but with more polish, more intention, and better shoes. Which, frankly, feels about right.
And while I’m always a little amused when fashion suddenly turns grown women into a trend, I do understand the appeal. What makes that woman interesting isn’t just the scarf or the handbag. It’s the life behind her. The confidence, yes, but also the history, the friendships, the losses, and the perspective that comes from living a full life. And last week, living mine felt more important than forcing myself to write Monday Musings.
I know some of you missed Monday Musings last week, and I appreciate that more than you know.
I sat down at this keyboard three different times, and every time I started, I couldn’t get past the first paragraph.
I never intended for this blog to become a diary of my personal life. I prefer to stay practical. But after years of sharing this space with you, the line between my closet and my reality has blurred in ways I didn’t plan. Last weekend was a rough one, and I couldn’t find words that weren’t too raw to share.
Last Saturday, my husband and I had dinner with a group of friends we’ve been gathering with for over forty years. We’ve shared everything together…the births of our children, their weddings, the deaths of our parents, and over the last decade, the loss of our own members to lung cancer. We’ve shared vacations, the kind of laughter that leaves you breathless, and the kind of tears that only true friends are allowed to see.
Last summer, we lost Bonnie, one of my personal heroes. After her stage 4 lung cancer diagnosis, she didn’t turn inward. She and her husband established a foundation in 2006 to help other lung cancer patients and fund research. That was just who she was. She was fighting her own battle and still looking out for everyone else. My husband had early-stage lung cancer, caught only because Bonnie had pushed all of us to get scanned.
She called me Punkin. I later found out she called others that, too, and somehow it didn’t matter. It still felt endearing. She was also the person who could walk down any sidewalk, glance down, and find a twenty-dollar bill. That kind of luck felt like it was built into her.
This was our first dinner party together since Bonnie died, and her husband hosted us at their home. When I walked into the kitchen and saw the care he’d taken, the appetizers arranged just so, and the table beautifully set, I almost said, “Bonnie would be proud of you.” I stopped myself because I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. I still don’t know if it was. But I thought it.
Then we sat down, and there was Bonnie’s place at the table, set as it always had been. It’s hard to explain what that does to a room.
We spent the evening doing what we’ve always done, talking, remembering, joking, and laughing in the way only old friends can. Bonnie had been such a big part of that laughter, which made her absence feel even more painful. When we said our goodbyes, we all hugged a little tighter and held on a little longer than usual.
It reminded me that while I spend my days helping you find the right blazer or the perfect neutral, clothes are really just the costumes for the lives we live with the people who matter most.
Bonnie’s empty chair was hard to look at. But I’m deeply grateful for the forty years of memories that still fill it.
Jennifer, I am so sorry for your loss and the sadness. Bonnie will always be an inspiration for you.
This is wonderful! You always give me something to think about!
Jennifer,
I’m so very sorry for the loss of your dear longtime friend. Our lives are very similar, and I fully relate to your post this morning. Thank you.
Beautiful!
😊 I can so relate to your story. We have a group of friends that get together. We have been doing it for a long long time & slowly we have lost friends. It is so very hard. 💔
What a wonderful woman. What wonderful friends. As I contemplate aging and think all those same thoughts you’re expressing, I agree. It’s the life we’ve lead, the laughs we’ve shared and experiences like you’ve mentioned that make us who we are. Our clothing is just the window. A window lets in the light but you must look through it to see what’s on the other side. I can’t thank you enough Jennifer for your beautiful words today. I hope this is not too presumptuous of me, but I have a strong feeling that Bonnie would be proud!
Thank you so much!
I am so very sorry about the loss of your friend. Unfortunately we are of the age when these losses become more frequent and continuously difficult. Celebrate life and keep the wonderful memories in our hearts!
What a beautiful remembrance of your friend. Thank you for sharing such a heartfelt message of what’s truly more important than anything. Hugs.
Dear Jennifer, tears in my eyes as I read your post; I am so sorry for the hole that has been left by the loss of your friend. My husband and I are also at the stage of life where the goodbyes are beginning and it is not an easy road to navigate. Remember the good times, and cherish the ones you still have. Jo
You speak for all of us who’ve experienced the joy of long friendship. Thank you.
Just enjoyed a lovely dinner with old friends last evening so this post hit hard. Grateful and increasingly aware that time is growing shorter for us, good health is always appreciated and we are all vulnerable. How brave of your friend to host, but how lovely you all showed up and honoured him, your much missed friend and the each other. His dinner party was a celebration of her life and everyone there.
Such a lovely, heartfelt post. Thank you for sharing a personal part of your life and the emotions that came too. So sorry for your loss of a dear friend.
What a beautiful tribute to your friend. I’m so sorry she lost her battle with the dreaded “c” word but it sounds like she was an amazing woman who cared deeply for others. As we age, we will experience more loss and grief. While we are still here, we should practice caring deeply for others too. A smile, a phone call, a service done for a friend or a stranger makes this often difficult world a better place.
When close friends pass on, it’s hard to organize your thoughts on what is to say to their spouse.
But, with longtime friends, sometimes a long hug is all that is needed. You wrote a beautiful story about your dear friend.
Have a lovely day and thank you
Dear Jennifer, What an exquisite post. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for generously sharing yourself in this space. You painted such a beautiful picture of a life well-lived—Bonnie’s—and also yours. You and she inspire others. How brave we all are called to be in this era of our lives. Sending loving wishes to you, Kathryn
Thank you for sharing this story, and Bonnie, with us. Grief becomes part of the fabric of our lives that makes memories and new experiences sharper and more poignant. Your group of friends sound so special and I hope there will be many more memories made with them.
I’m 70. I’ve lost a brother and a sister already, a friend to brain cancer, my ex to a heart issue, and the rest of us have our medical issues. My father is 99 and turns 100 this year. His doctor is amazed with him; he’s very sharp. But what he has been telling me and my brother (66) for several years is that these are the years where you are going to start seeing things happening to the people around you. You are now in the “danger zone” when things start going wrong. He’s very honest, but he’s right. He says that even though he is lucky to have lived so long, the hardest part is the loss of his peers in his generation, because no one else understands that era of his life. I guess this is part of the aging process, albeit an unpleasant one.
Beautifully written. Thank you for the reminder and may God bless you and your friends.
Absolutely beautiful and thought-provoking tribute❤️
Thank you for sharing Bonnie with us. Beautifully written! My Bonnie was Dori and losing her left a hole in our hearts. I try to fill it with laughter and fun stories because that’s who Dori was to me.
Beautiful, heartfelt thoughts, Jennifer. Thanks for sharing. I too often think of loved ones I’ve lost..my parents and grandparents of course. That is to be expected. It’s the natural cycle of life. But it’s the friends and peers that have passed away that create a special loss and longing. Thank you for letting us see who you really are, beneath the wardrobe.
Carol
Long time reader
Your words today were beautiful and poignant. What lovely times you’ve shared and, at the end, that’s all that really matters.
Oh Jennifer, I too know that feeling —that experience. It’s a jolt to our heartstrings. There’s a hug in here for you.….eyes filling up.