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.
Hugs
I think you may have solved a problem for me. My husband died a short while ago. I have tried to eat at our table and I just avoid it. I eat in the living room on the couch. It isn’t even comfortable! I’m going to try setting a place where my husband sat. We’ll see if having another place setting will help me feel more at home sitting by myself. Your posting was very heartfelt. Thank you.
I’ll tell you what I found helpful when my husband passed away a year and a half ago I couldn’t bear to look at the empty space so what I’ve done is I sit in the space so then I don’t have to see the empty spot believe it’s helped a lot in the living room where he spent much of his time
Thank you for such a beautiful and moving post. By the time many of us have lived to our senior years, it feels as though we’ve lived through a number of life cycles. We’ve said final goodbyes to some we have loved, and welcomed the new life that inevitably comes in to our orbits. I’m driving to Ottawa from Boston in a few weeks to embrace my new great niece, born just 4 weeks ago. So looking forward to that new baby smell.
That is a beautiful reminder of life and friendship and the memories we share. 💕
Thank you for such a personal and meaningful post. I think it represents where most of us live our day to day lives and what’s important to us.
I am so sorry for the loss of your dear friend.
I admire Bonnie’s husband for hosting your special group. I am sure that he welcomed stories and remembrances as you all visited. As a recent widow, I cherish those friends who bring my husband into the conversation and talk about good times past. I am having a very hard time with several who have been friends for 40-plus years who make no contact with me or no mention of him when they do. That has added an additional difficult layer to my already completely different life. I know it’s hard, but I would say that the average person wants others to remember their lost loved one, not dwell, but just remember with a story of the good times. Bonnie was a part of his life and all of yours, so remember her with the joy she brought to the table.
Wise advice thank you.
Beautifully written.
I am so very sorry that you lost your beloved friend. Your post is a gentle reminder that we should enjoy every moment, cherish our family and friends and do what we can to make the world a better place. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for sharing. It is good to be real with your readers and share your personal life – makes you seem more like one of us.
Thank you for sharing, sorry for your loss. What a blessing to have such close friends for 40 years.
We are all so blessed to have each other.
What a moving tribute to your dear friend. It seems that some of us are in that time of life where we are experiencing loss of dear friends and family. It is well to take the time for yourself, to grieve, to love, to remember the memories of those times together. Best wishes.
What a beautiful tribute to your friend. And yes, you should definitely tell Bonnie’s husband that she would have been proud. Too often we don’t say words that could comfort because we are afraid to hurt. Talking about the person who isn’t in the chair any more is the very best way to remember them.
So sorry for your loss. Helen Keller once said that what we once enjoyed and deeply loved becomes part of us and can never be lost. May those parts of Bonnie that you loved and respected forever be a part of you.
I hope so
Thank you for sharing your story, at the stage in my mature life I have begun to experience the loss of dear friends and understand how you feel. Those moments make the decision of what to wear really insignificant. Hugs to you.
This is so poignant. I have not lost a spouse but I have lost a child. You always want to hear others say their name, to remember them. Next time, don’t stop yourself, it’s a precious gift for the people left behind.
A stunning piece of writing. I felt tears when you couldn’t bring yourself to say “Bonnie would be proud of you” to her husband and then the warmth of connection — friends hold each other more tightly in these later years. Thank you.
Oh my goodness, what a very moving post. I’m so sorry for the loss of your dear friend. Thank you for sharing your story with us. Hugs.
I understand your grief for Bonnie. I’ve had that empty chair of my husband’s for exactly 5 years now. And when I buy something you suggested and it looks good on me, I can’t help but think Bill would like it too.
What a beautiful tribute to your friend. Aren’t we so blessed to have those people in our lives? I am thankful every day for each and everyone of them and your column only reminded me to be even more appreciative on a daily basis. I wish you comfort in your wonderful memories.