Last week, I wrote about doors that close and the unexpected ones that sometimes open in their place. I want to tell you about one of those doors in my own life—a door I didn’t see until I was ready, but one that changed the rest of my life.

Meeting Bob

It was October 4, 1998, a little over two years after losing my first husband. I had been assigned to work on a project in Memphis and, looking for a way to get familiar with the city, I logged into an AOL chat room (remember those?). I wasn’t looking for romance. I just wanted someone to show me around, give me a feel for the place.

That’s when I “met” Bob. He volunteered to play tour guide, and by the end of the day, after exploring the city together, he asked me on a date. What started as a chance encounter became the open door I hadn’t known was waiting for me.

Grief had closed me off, and while I had been open to exploring finding someone to share my life with, I wasn’t expecting to find it when I wasn’t looking . But that day in Memphis, without planning it, I stepped through a door that would shape the next chapter of my life.

The Ceremony

One year later, on October 9, we held a ceremony to commit ourselves to each other. It wasn’t legal then—domestic partnerships were the closest recognition available—but it was necessary to us. We wanted to stand in front of our family and friends and say: this is real, this matters.

Of course, the best-laid plans have a way of going sideways. The temperature that day soared over 100 degrees, and the house didn’t have air conditioning. Someone had loaded the garbage disposal with tea bags from the iced tea, which clogged the pipes and required an emergency plumber. And our mothers? Neither one was thrilled about walking us down the aisle. My mom had to convince Bob’s mother to do it. She said, “I don’t necessarily agree with what they’re doing either, but I’m going to be there for my son.”

I can still see it: I was upstairs getting dressed, looking out the window at the yard below. The chairs on my side of the aisle were in full sun, and I couldn’t see if anyone had chosen to sit there. For a moment, I felt isolated. But then the music began.

We’d chosen Shania Twain’s From This Moment, and as the notes of music filled the air, our own voices joined in. We sang to each other as we walked from opposite sides of the house, meeting in the middle of the aisle. It caught everyone off guard. Guests still talk about that moment all these years later. During the instrumental break, I caught sight of my mom, tears filling her eyes while she smiled. I reached for her hand; she squeezed mine back. In that moment, I thought, maybe everything really is going to be alright.

Surrounded by my grief support group, close friends, neighbors, and family… it wasn’t just a ceremony. It was a declaration: grief hadn’t erased my capacity to love. Loss hadn’t barred me from joy. An open door had led me here.

What I Learned

Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have seen this door two years earlier. I wasn’t ready. Grief has its own timetable, and no matter how much we want to move forward, sometimes we can’t until something inside us shifts. I wasn’t ready until I was ready.

When that door finally did appear, though, I had a choice: stay closed off or step through. And as terrifying as it was to risk my heart again, I walked through it. What I found wasn’t a replacement for what I’d lost, but a reminder that my capacity for love hadn’t died with my first husband.

Love after loss isn’t about starting over. It’s about carrying both the love that shaped you before and the love that grows in the present. There’s no neat erasing, no blank slate. Instead, there’s layering: sorrow and joy, memory and discovery, grief and laughter.

That’s what Bob brought into my life. He didn’t erase the love I had for my first husband; he added to it. He helped me see that my story didn’t end with loss, that there were still chapters worth writing. He recognized that my relationship was still very much a part of me and did not feel threatened by it.

The Lesson of Open Doors

What I’ve come to understand is this: open doors often appear when we least expect them, and they rarely look the way we imagine. Sometimes they’re disguised as chance encounters, unexpected invitations, or opportunities we almost dismiss. But when we step through, they change us.

That door in Memphis changed everything. It shaped not just 15 years of shared life, but the man I am today—someone who knows love can return in unexpected ways, even after devastation.

Your Challenge This Week

So here’s my challenge for you:

Think about a door you may not have noticed—or maybe one you’ve been afraid to open. What possibilities might be waiting on the other side?

You don’t have to be ready all at once. You don’t have to know exactly what’s beyond it. But when the time comes, be willing to consider that another chapter, another love, another opportunity might be waiting.

Because sometimes the most important doors aren’t the ones we go searching for. Sometimes, those doors are the ones we walk through when our hearts are finally ready.

What’s one open door in your life that you’re glad you walked through—or one you’re still gathering the courage to face?