I’m sitting at the dinner table at my daughter’s house. My four-year-old granddaughter is finished with her chicken and rice. I’m scooping a second portion onto my plate when she asks me a question.

“Grandpa?”

“What is it darling?”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

If you know anything at all about being a grandparent, then you understand what happens to the heart of an old man when a child of your own flesh speaks those words. The warmth of that question melts away everything you’ve ever questioned in this life. Doubts fade. The things that keep you up at night seem trivial.

I reach across the chair next to me, place my hands around her ribs just under her arms, and lift her onto my lap. Her legs straddle my left thigh. My left arm cradles her against my chest, and my left hand rests on her knee. With my fork in my right hand I take the next bite.

“I love you Grandpa,” she says in a shy, small voice.

From time to time I am dumb-struck about how much my life has changed in the last five years since Beth passed away. The little girl I’m holding wasn’t even around back then. Hardly anything is as it used to be. My house is different. My schedule is different. I’m retired now. I’m responsible these days for things like mopping floors and scrubbing toilets, things I never used to worry about.

Some days, I even think that I’m a different person.

And why wouldn’t I be? So much of who a man becomes is shaped by the person to whom he is married. He makes concessions. He offers himself for her good. He aligns his interests with hers. In every plan, every goal, every move in life, she is on his mind.

Then, one day, she’s gone.

My buddy, Scott, lost his wife about a year and a half ago. He and I are the same age. We grew up together. He and his wife had been together since high school. So, over the last year the two of us have had a lot to talk about. A similar journey to share, to dissect, and to discover.

“I’m just trying to figure out what I’m gonna do with myself,” he said to me at one time. “I’m completely lost because everything I thought I ever wanted to do included her. And she’s not here anymore.”

What I do know is that some of you reading this get what I’m saying. You’ve experienced the loss. You understand the change which comes at you whether you want it or not. You have asked yourself all the same questions, including the big one.

Would I ever marry again?

Initially, I felt like I could live on and enjoy life without a mate. I’m strong willed. I’m reasonably stable. I resolved early on not to make a museum out of Beth’s things. I didn’t think it would be healthy to live in the past. It took me a full year to get comfortable with removing my wedding ring, but already my life was beginning to change.

I don’t know what my kids saw from the outside looking in. I’m guessing they thought I was doing great. I was wearing clean clothes. I was learning to cook meals. I wasn’t living like a hermit. I still knew how to smile and laugh.

What they couldn’t see was the aloneness. I think I hid that pretty well. I’m not talking about being lonely. I was still working. I still had plenty of friends. I was around people all the time. I wasn’t lonely.

But I was alone. I didn’t have anyone with whom I could share my life. If I had a thought, I kept it to myself. If I made plans to ride up to Kentucky, there was no one except Max to look out the window with me. No hand to hold. No laughter to share. No eyes looking back which could see the real me.

As I neared the two year mark, I began to consider that I might, perhaps, on a good day think about getting married again. Which is why I told the Lord I wasn’t looking but if He had someone in mind, He just might have to drop her in front of me out of the clear blue sky.

A month later I met Marion.

For the first time in what felt like a long time, I had another person in my life. Someone I found likeable. There was this almost spiritual easiness between us when we were together.

The aloneness disappeared.

I had someone I could say good morning to. We made each other laugh. If I made plans, I would ask her what she thought. If she had something to say, she would call me to tell me what was on her mind. It had been nine years for her. Only two for me. But when you find it, you immediately recognize that shared sensibility, that elixir of life which had been missing.

The changes in my life before we met were gentle and somewhat subtle, like changing the wall color in a bedroom and buying a new pillow. The changes that have come in the three years since have been more drastic, like a total house remodel that knocks out a few walls and gives the whole place a brand new look.

I don’t know that either of us was fully prepared for the new life that we were about to face. There have been lots of hurdles and more than a fair share of challenges to navigate. Both of us trying to figure out where we fit into the bigger family picture on both sides. Me meeting her friends who knew and loved Mike. Her meeting my friends who knew and loved Beth.

But somehow, it’s working. Even though we live this separate-and-together-life between Pine Mountain and Newnan, we are figuring it out.

I think there’s a part of what we do that some of our friends don’t quite get.

One of my buddies said to me the other day, “It’s like you have this mysterious life out of town that none of us know anything about.”

I can only tell you this. Whatever the changes in my life may be, it’s been worth it. My world has gotten bigger. And thankfully, God has given me a bigger heart to go with it.

Am I handling all the changes perfectly? Probably not. But when little Cooper calls me Doc, or little Naomi crawls up in my lap to tell me she loves me, whatever I’m doing wrong doesn’t seem all that important.

Here’s my point. I am deeply aware of how different my life must appear to those who have known me. I know that there are ripple effects that touch everyone close to me. I continue to work through those changes every day to the best of my ability because I know that this second chance at life and love is a rare and precious gift.

Especially Marion. Thank you for being the one who loves me most.