Nancy Gaudet is in Love
“This is the end of one love story and the beginning of another,” writes Nancy Gaudet. Sometimes, the road we travel is not the one we thought it would be.”
By Nancy Gaudet
I believe there are times when a higher power is at work in the universe. Once in a while, we are lucky to be in the right place with someone special. I realize some might think this sounds crazy, and to a non-believer, probably sounds like a bunch of bullshit. The story I am about to tell you happened to real people.
In October of 2019, about 2 hours after completing a 100-mile bike ride in Florida to raise money for Type 1 Diabetes, I had a massive seizure and ended up in a Neuro Intensive Care Unit for 5 days. My company flew a dear friend, Cynthia, to Florida to help bring me home. She thought she would be there for a day. Instead, she sat at my bedside for 4 days. I learned that the seizure was caused by hyponatremia, a condition caused by low sodium. I also developed rhabdomyolysis, a syndrome that breaks down muscle tissue and can cause organ failure or death, if not treated urgently. My kidneys were failing. I was close to needing dialysis. The hospital chaplain read my last rites and prayed. The doctors pumped me with IV fluids, did CAT scans on my brain, and induced rest, waiting for my kidneys to respond in a normal manner. I could not walk for many days.
When I was able to slowly walk the hospital hallway, I went home with a prescription for physical therapy and a visiting nurse. Cynthia patiently waited for my condition to improve and helped me navigate back to Boston. I consider myself to be fiercely independent and strong, but I did not have any strength, and I found depending on others to be strangely frightening and vulnerable. I was told I needed to rest for 12 weeks. That meant no working, no driving, and no strenuous activity. It would be 24 weeks before I would ride my bike again. I had a difficult time showering and making myself a cup of tea. I could barely walk. Living alone certainly has its advantages, I thought. Until it doesn’t. Perspective. I was fortunate that there was no permanent brain damage, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was lucky to have survived the entire incident. If I had that seizure in my hotel room, my story would have been drastically different.
In the next decade of my life, if my memory fades, I will have my own words to remind me:
FALL 2019
My true friends, family, and colleagues show up. They bring me food, drive me to doctors’ appointments, and set up my computer at home. Flowers arrive daily. So do deliveries of homemade soup, cards, and get-well wishes. I feel very blessed by all of the kindness. I am somewhat surprised that so many people are concerned and show such respect and love for me. It feels like a gift! I separated from my husband after leaving an extremely toxic marriage. The greatest joy I received from that marriage was my one and only son, Ryan.
I have spent months recovering, reflecting, and taking a long, hard look at myself. I recently came across a quote by author Edith Eger, “Our painful experiences aren’t a liability, they’re a gift. They give us perspective and meaning, an opportunity to find our unique purpose and our strength.”
My new best friends are the visiting nurse and the physical therapist. My new reality is my lovely, sunlit 2-bedroom apartment, an overstuffed easy chair, and the Hallmark Channel. This predicament has forced me to slow my life down to a screeching halt. I am one of those people who can’t ever say “no,” and I have a long list of things to do every day. If I keep busy, there’s no time to sit with my feelings.
I often wonder why God saved me. I think of my ride buddy, Kelly, who had the horror of watching my seizure and who would have been the one to tell Ryan that she was the last person to speak to me or see me alive. I feel awful about that. Perhaps God has a plan for each of us. With renewed gratitude, I implement a daily ritual of prayer and deep-breathing exercises. I need some advice and a plan. I am thinking long and hard about my purpose here on earth. I need strength, and I’m in search of answers.
WINTER 2019
At about 10 weeks into my recovery, I break all the rules and drive myself 5 miles to church for a Saturday afternoon mass. During the homily, the priest tells us all to go home and write our own obituary! It was as if God was speaking directly to me. In his remarks, the priest said it is important to know how we want to be remembered.
He spoke about the “dash.” The dash is that line between the year of birth and the year of death in every obituary and on every gravestone. He preached that, “In this life, when all is said and done, it is not important how much we own, what kind of car we drive, or how much money we make. What matters most is how we live in our ‘dash.’” He challenged me to consider the things in my life that might need changing while I still have time. Those remarks haunted me for days. Was it just a coincidence or a “God instance?”
“How will I be remembered? How am I living in my dash?”
I have a wonderful career. For more than 30 years, I have in property management business, which creates a face-paced day, every day, and no 2 days are the same. I have the good fortune of working with the same team throughout this time. I am surrounded by colleagues who share the same values and work ethic. We are like a family, and I have grown into a leadership position that aligns with my own personality, goals, and aspirations. Now, sitting at home, it is time for me to pause, refer to my growing bucket list, and scrutinize exactly how I am living in my dash.
I make a commitment to myself to take control of my life. I end friendships that just aren't working for me. I cherish and thank the friends who are there for me. I start saying “I love you” before saying “goodbye.” I hug people as if it could be the last time I would see them. I wake up grateful for another day on this earth. I pray every morning for God to help me become the very best version of myself.
I get busy doing things out of my comfort zone. I sign up for an acting class at a community theater around the corner from my apartment and do a Google search for ballroom dancing lessons near me. I call my attorney to finalize my divorce. I get busy writing my will, changing the beneficiaries on all my accounts, and making sure to protect everything I work hard for.
For the final task on my checklist, I take the plunge and join a dating website! Online dating is awkward, interesting, and somewhat amusing. I have not dated for more than 30 years! The dating website is full of singles, divorced people, and those seeking everlasting love. The algorithm, based on questions I answer, is guaranteed to find me the very best match. Being the bottom-line person that I am, I look only at the profiles of men who are greater than a 90% match and within a 60-mile radius. My profile consists of a few decent photos, a short bio, and a list of 3 things I am looking for in a partner:
1. Make me laugh
2. Make me dinner
3. Ask me about my day (and listen to my answer!)
Not a tall order. A very short list.
I go on several lunch dates (even though I am keenly aware that I look way better in candlelight). To me, dinner seems like too much of a commitment. I make small talk, look for kindness, a sense of adventure, and someone who can make me laugh. I have a rule that we must talk on the phone before I go on a date. There are way more phone chats than meetings, and finding my true love seems like an improbable task!
Sadly, most of my dates talk way more than they listen. They say they hate their jobs, are counting the days until retirement, and seem to want someone to take care of them. So much for algorithms! My lunch dates include a fisherman from Nantucket, a silver fox from Braintree, a Christian Scientist from Newton, an Optometrist (who was all hands) from Rhode Island, and The Guy With the Golden Doodle.
I have a couple of lunch dates with a lumberjack from Cape Cod. We decide it will be fun to give ballroom dance lessons a whirl. He has two left feet and no sense of rhythm. Our weekly dinner dates, followed by dance lessons, quickly become a chore on my to-do list. He seems excited to see me, makes it a point to ask me about my day, and continuously makes attempts at telling me jokes. I give him credit for being mindful of my checklist. But, when he eagerly asks if I am going to sign up for the next set of dance lessons, I politely inform him that I am planning to take tennis lessons. My longest dating relationship terminated in the parking lot after dance class.
I thoroughly enjoy acting classes! My classmates and the teacher say I am an “articulate storyteller” with an innate ability to portray any character I am assigned as “extremely believable.” I feel a small glimmer of hope that maybe someday, before I turn 75 years old, I could possibly be on the big screen. I sign up for the next session right away. I am embracing new things!
As the calendar rolls forward to 2020, I decide to take a break from online dating. I am bound and determined to continue down this new road of discovery.
In mid-January, my son, goes to Florence, Italy, for his junior year of college. I am thrilled and in full-on panic. I can only think of the complications that could arise if he needs medical attention for his Type 1 Diabetes. I smile and hug him long and hard at the airport, but cry alone in my car all the way home. Ryan had traveled to Europe many times since he was a teenager. He is a semi-pro cyclist on Team Novo Nordisk, an international professional cycling team made up of athletes with diabetes. The first time he traveled to Europe, he was 15 years old. He flew off to Belgium, alone, with his bike and diabetes supplies. I survived all those trips, but the longest duration was about 20 days. This trip would be more than 100 days! I say a silent prayer and ask God to watch over him. To ease my fears, we made a pact: I will fly to Florence and visit him at the end of his semester to celebrate our milestone birthdays: 21 and 60. That gives me something to look forward to and a shot at maintaining my sanity. We will ride our bikes together in the hills of Tuscany, eat pasta for lunch with warm, fresh bread dipped in olive oil, and sip a good Brunello di Montalcino together.
SPRING 2020
We are all fully aware of how the world has changed. Coronavirus hits Italy hard and early. Hospitals in Italy are at capacity, people are dying daily, cities are evacuating. The borders are closing, and colleges are closing. It is a mad scramble and several days of anxiety trying to get my son a flight back home. Photos on social media show trucks lined up in the streets waiting to remove dead bodies. Ryan returns safely, but heartbroken. He was having the time of his life “living the dream,” he said. At this point, there is no way to test for the virus in the United States. Ryan quarantines for 14 days and I pray he does not have the virus. This catastrophic event changes everything for us.
Then, my dear friend of more than 25 years gets some very bad news: her husband has been diagnosed with glioblastoma, a rare and aggressive form of brain cancer. John is only 58 years old, fit and healthy, playing basketball just 2 weeks before. His youngest daughter is a sophomore in high school, 2 more are in college. We cry together. I happen to be pretty good at fundraising and tell myself that God will work through me to help I will help my friend. This is something I am meant to do.
I learn that John’s best friend, Chris, has purchased a used handicap-accessible van for them and has offered to drive her husband to Boston for his daily radiation treatments. I wonder, “What kind of friend buys someone a van and helps take them to radiation every day?” These 2 men met in Little League when they were 8 years old, more than 5 decades ago! Chris shows up every morning with a cup of coffee.
Chris and I speak by phone about fundraising ideas, and help each other through the emotions about John. I send him the book “Chasing Daylight,” a true story about a man with glioblastoma, so Chris knows what is coming and how he can help his best friend. We continue working on our fundraising and wondering if it is possible to raise any money during a global pandemic. In a world of darkness, I am hoping to find just a tiny sliver of light.
I’ve spent several months on the phone with a man I have never met in person, I become very interested to know more. I turn to Google. I am always amazed that anything you want to know is just a few clicks away! I find a wealth of information. Chris is 57 years old, holds 2 Master’s degrees, has 2 children in their 20s, has a successful career, and an address on the North Shore. He is involved in significant charity work and has been dubbed “Man of the Year” by a local charity.
If you were to Google me, the results would show that I am 60 years old and a senior vice president of a family-owned real estate management company south of Boston. I hold one Master’s degree, have one child in his 20s, and an address on Cape Cod. I host a monthly support group for moms of children with Type 1 Diabetes. I spend a fair amount of time training on my bike for fundraising rides, volunteering at JDRF programs, and raising thousands of dollars for diabetes research.
I feel excited. I think we can really do something great for our friends. This is the sliver of light.
One Friday night we decide to speak on the phone and discuss business over a glass of wine. We talk about our dear friends and the heartbreak we feel. We talk about how much money we think we can raise. We discuss our jobs, our children, and where we went to college. We learn that we grew up in a town apart and that last Thanksgiving we were both at John's house with dozens of other friends, but never met!
After a few glasses of wine, we realize we have been talking for almost 5 hours! I reluctantly suggest we hang up, though I admit I could talk for several more hours. Talking to him is like putting on an old sweatshirt; comfortable, warm, and cozy. I learn that we like the same music, the same food and wine, the same people, sports, books, tv shows. Was I flirting? I made him laugh! He made me laugh! The connection was surreal.
I send him a text in the morning: “What is worse, an alcohol hangover or a vulnerability hangover?” Minutes later he respnds with, “HA HA! GREAT question!” I can not stop thinking about him. I wonder if he was thinking about me at all.
A week later, and we were back on the phone talking long into the night. Getting to know him is like reading a really good book, and I can not wait to turn the page.
SUMMER 2020
Chris and I continue with calls and texts. We talk about books, our present living situation, the pandemic and how it has changed our lives, our children, and religion. He was a football player and I was a cheerleader! We talk about college. We both live alone and work a lot. He eventually admits to watching the Hallmark Channel and says he definitely believes in fairy-tale endings. I tell him the idea of a Prince Charming is a myth, and I absolutely do not believe in fairy-tale endings. When I ask about what happened to his marriage, he says, “It is complicated.” When he asks what happened to my marriage I say, “It’s complicated.” We leave that subject alone.
We are in lockdown, like most of the country, so fundraising meetings are on Zoom. It is early June, the world is still a very scary place. Chris informs me that we have spent more than 400 hours on the phone! Imagine speaking to someone whom you have never met in person for that long? He does not seem real. For all I know, he could be a psychopath. I have not told anyone about him. I wonder if he was a gift from God.
I have only seen Chris’s face on a few Zoom calls with the fundraising committees. I boldly suggest we schedule a private Zoom. He eagerly agrees, and by 7:00 p.m., we are drinking wine and showing each other our apartments. This is not really a “date” so I do nothing to prepare. I am wearing an old sweatshirt and baggy shorts; I wear very little makeup and have no polish on my nails. My grey roots are at least 3 inches long! I am rethinking this idea, but throw caution to the wind! This is me. I am who I am: a 60-year-old woman with flaws and wrinkles.
We have such easy banter, just like on the telephone. We talk until Zoom cuts us off at the stroke of an hour, but continue on the phone for several more. He tells me that the pandemic is one of the best things that ever happened to him ... He says that he learned a great deal about himself during the pandemic and will not go back to his former way of life. I share with him the story of my seizure and that it was one of the best things that happened to me. I tell him how it let me take a long, hard look at myself and my life and determine what really matters. I have spent the last 2 years living alone, trying to move forward and become the very “best version” of myself. I say it is time for me to close this chapter, and I truly believe God has a plan.
A few weeks into June, we realize the lockdown is not changing anytime soon. This round of radiation treatments will end soon, and I ask Chris to help me set up John’s room so his wife can work next to his bed. We decide to meet there for the first time in person, then have lunch outside, socially distanced.
I am nervous. When I walk into my friend’s living room, my eyes lock with his. My heart does, in fact, skip a beat and I feel my throat catch. This is not what I expect. I do not want to feel anything! My friend introduces us and we all laugh at how he and I had never actually met in person until that very moment. We get busy building a desk together. We joke around a lot during the process and the same easy banter we have had over the phone continues in person. We both agree to keep our blossoming friendship a secret for the time being. We leave in our separate cars but meet in a parking lot and drive together to his friend’s vacant home north of Boston. We spend our time walking on the beach, me showing him how to look for sea glass. He brought some special Italian wine he thought I might like since I missed a trip to Italy for my birthday. I am impressed with his thoughtfulness. We eat outside on the patio overlooking the ocean. We watch the most perfect vibrant sunset of orange and pink. We build a fire and listen to music. We learn that we are both big Bruce Springsteen fans! The song “Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts starts to play and I am struck by the lyrics.
I set out on a narrow way many years ago/Hoping I would find true love along the broken road/But I got lost a time or two/Wiped my brow and kept pushing through/I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you.
Thankful for the darkness, I desperately want to stop time and hold onto this most perfect moment forever. We realize we have to drive a long way home. We awkwardly do this half-handshake-half-hug. This was not a date. But if it were a date, it would definitely be in the top three of my entire life! I smile all the way home.
The next day, he calls me and says that he had the best time and suggests we do something outside again the following weekend. I emphatically inform him that these are to be considered “adventures” not dates because I am terrible at dating. Since he already learned about all my bad dates, he wholeheartedly agrees, adding that we are much too old to be “dating.”
As the days turn into weeks, we take turns planning adventures and bike rides. After one particular adventure, he makes me dinner. No other man has ever been to my apartment. Chris is the very first man in my life to make me dinner. I recall getting out of the shower and finding him in my kitchen in his pajamas already prepping for dinner. He has a glass of wine waiting for me on the counter top. This is my fantasy! To sit here on my bar stool and just sip wine, talk, and watch someone else make me dinner. After dinner we watch a movie and hold hands on the couch like teenagers. Chris stays over and sleeps in my son’s room. He is a true gentleman.
In the morning, we watch the sun rise and drink coffee together. At this point, we have hugged, we have held hands, and snuggled on the couch. Then finally, we kiss. It was so worth the wait. It was that singular, slow-motion moment when two very bruised and battered hearts let the tiny droplets of love seep in ever so slowly. It feels like a gift from God. We do nothing more than that. I am too scared. As the summer rolls on, we ride our bikes on the Cape Cod Canal, on the Rail Trail, along the coast in Rhode Island. We walk the beach, eat fried clams, and learn so much about each other. I am feeling scared, but having fun.
We have mobilized 2 groups of people to help our friends. We have managed to help raise over $150,000 and planned a 1-day virtual Walk/Run/Ride event with more than 140 participants. The event includes a parade of people in matching T-shirts walking by John’s house so he can watch from his driveway in his wheelchair. This event raises another $30,000! At this point, the radiation treatments have stopped, and John’s condition is slowly declining.
FALL 2020
Chris and I begin to meet at church with masks and 6 feet apart. We pray for our friends and I say a silent prayer for myself: “Are you there God? Please, please send me a sign that spending time with Chris is the right thing for me to do at this point in my life. I am feeling scared. I have the urge to just run away in the opposite direction. I really need a sign!”
I receive a package from The Vermont Teddy Bear Company. Inside the box is an toy, a stuffed dog with a card: “Maybe start here. I named her Faith. She will always come when you call her.” Chris tells me it isn’t from him. I text some friends. I call the Vermont Teddy Bear Company. I cannot figure out who sent this gift! The next day, my assistant asks if I recently received a package. She sent me the dog! She reminded me of a recent conversation about me getting a dog during COVID. She had joked that with my busy lifestyle, I would be better suited to raising a stuffed dog than a real one. Of all the names in the universe, I asked, why did she choose the name Faith? She replied, “Because life is all about faith, hope, and love.” I closed my office door and sobbed at my desk. That was a sign I asked for,that I prayed for! I truly believe God was telling me to take a leap of faith.
When two very bruised and battered hearts collide at exactly the right moment, I have to believe that something bigger is at work, that God has a plan. I believe that when you open your eyes and ears and heart to God, you will understand. Chris and I are wildly, deeply, joyously in love. Slowly learning about each other paved the way for a deep and lasting connection. Working together to help our friends brought us together. I truly believe it was a God instance. In the most unlikely time, when the world was a dark and scary place, together we found that tiny sliver of light.
Chris told me he fell in love with me from the inside out, my heart first. I tell Chris that meeting him felt like a gift from God.
In October of 2020, John passed away. It was a Sunday. I believe only angels die on Sundays.
SPRING 2022
On May 6, 2022, the day I turned 62, Chris and I closed on a house in a gated community in Plymouth. We plan to retire there together in the next 5 years and spend our time drinking good wine, riding our bikes, and making each other laugh. Once in a lifetime, if we are very lucky, someone comes into our life that we really connect with heart to heart, soul to soul. A connection happens, friendships develop, and we find lasting love right where we are.
God blessed the broken road that led us here.
