On Sunday morning, December 2, 2012, our small church was gathering as usual. I remember the date very well. Three new faces walked into the café—nothing out of the ordinary. But one of them, a woman in her fifties, came straight up to me, wrapped me in a huge hug, and said, “Hi, I’m Carrie!”

It felt like an electric charge shot through my body. I never saw it coming, and she immediately captured my attention. I soon learned that Carrie was single and living with her friends, Mike and Lindy, who had recently moved to the area from Philadelphia.

Nearly three years had passed since Jean’s death, and I was preparing to spend Christmas and New Year’s with friends in Russia, followed by a visit to others in Ukraine. The trip turned out to be a nightmare—delayed flights, long waits, and constant uncertainty. But uncertainty had become my new normal, and I was slowly adjusting to the strange rhythms of life as a single man in his early sixties.

When I returned home in late January, it felt as though Carrie had been waiting for me. Within a few days, my daughter Rebecca and I were invited to dinner at the home of Mike, Lindy, and Carrie. That evening marked the beginning of a warm and unexpected new chapter—not only with Carrie, but with the Sheridan’s as well.

We began spending more time together, and soon Carrie and I were going on dates. It was clear we were drawn to each other, and we gradually allowed those feelings to surface. Love was in the air, and for the first time in a long while, life felt like it was returning.

After months of dating and getting to know what would become my new family, we decided to marry. On December 28, 2013, a small gathering of loved ones met in my sister’s home, and the two of us became one.