All I ever wanted in life was to be a wife and a mother. I met Mike when I was 21, at a Christian college where we were both attending night classes. From the very start, there was something about him that felt like home. Three months later, the day before my birthday, Mike asked me to spend forever with him. I could hardly contain my excitement—I couldn’t wait to become his wife! Planning is one of my greatest joys, and I threw myself into every detail: picking the perfect dress, arranging our honeymoon cruise, and imagining our life together. We were married the following March on what would go down in family legend as the rainiest day in history—guests actually got lost on the way to the church! People say rain on your wedding day is good luck, but we didn’t need luck. We already knew we were making the right choice.
The next fourteen years were filled with joy. We welcomed three beautiful children into the world and pastored a small but loving congregation in the North Carolina mountains. We lived in a rustic log home surrounded by nature, laughter, and love. Life felt perfect. I never imagined it could be any different—or that in a single moment, everything I knew could change forever.
One Tuesday night in December, that perfect life shattered. Mike had taken the kids to our son’s basketball game while I attended classes at the same university where we had met. We had agreed to meet afterward at my parents’ house for dinner. When I heard my phone ring, I assumed it was Mike letting me know they were on their way. Instead, it was my oldest daughter, her voice trembling: “Mom! We’ve been in an accident!” My heart skipped a beat as I asked if everyone was okay and if the airbags had deployed. She said, “Me, Eli, and Anna are fine…but they can’t get Daddy to wake up.”
I rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. Despite the doctors’ best efforts, Mike was gone. He had died instantly in the crash. We didn’t have life insurance. I only worked part-time, and supporting three children on that income seemed impossible. The following year was the hardest of my life. I didn’t understand why God would allow this to happen. I never truly knew how deep grief could go until that moment.
But slowly, life began to move forward. I moved back to my hometown so my parents could help with the kids. I started a new job, joined a new church, and tried to find hope in a world that felt so broken. One day, I found myself writing, “I guess it’s time to begin writing the second chapter.”
Eleven days later, I received a message from Todd. I had never met him in person, but we shared a connection: his late wife, Angie, and my mom had been close friends. Angie had passed from pancreatic and liver cancer the December before Mike. Todd and I began talking about our experiences of widowhood, parenting alone, and the longing to love again. He had two teenage daughters, both adopted, and I had three children, ages 8, 12, and 14. Our conversations were long, honest, and filled with both laughter and tears. Two days before Christmas, he asked if I wanted to meet for lunch. He brought flowers, and we sat in a local restaurant booth for three hours, talking, crying, and laughing together.
Afterward, I sent him a text: “I know I should be playing it cool, but I had a really great time and I’d like to do it again soon.” Our first “real” date was the day after Christmas. Todd took me ice skating in the mountains, and for the first time in a year, I truly smiled. My heart, which had felt frozen, began to beat again. Each day with him felt like reclaiming a piece of myself. I began to realize it was possible to love two incredible men in one lifetime—and to be loved in return. It was humbling, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.
Exactly three months after that lunch, Todd got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. I wasn’t sure how blending our five children into one family would work, but I trusted him and trusted God. Loving again after loss has been a gift beyond words. We recently celebrated our one-year wedding anniversary, and every day I remind myself how blessed I am.
Sometimes fear creeps in—I worry about losing him, about the “what ifs.” But most days, I live in gratitude, walking fully in the joy and love of a second chance at life and family. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world because I got to love deeply—not once, but twice. I truly won first place…twice.
