This week Bobbie Thomas makes her return to TODAY, announcing a new project called “Dear Bobbie.” Inspired by the outpouring of support she received after her husband’s death, she’ll be taking submissions from viewers about their own life challenges — both big and small — and helping them navigate through it all.
“Michael Kenneth Marion,” my son Miles said proudly as he read the inscription on the gravestone, using his little finger to keep him on track. “Beloved huss-band, Daddy ... so loving, ah-comp-lished, so funny.” The words hung in the air. Instantly, I felt my breath get shallow. Fifteen months had gone by since my husband died. Life had continued on, and yet seeing his gravestone for the very first time made the wound feel fresh. I was exposed.
Less than two weeks ago, our immediate family gathered and sat in rows surrounding the new marker, wanting to be close to Michael. The stone had finally arrived. When it was time for me to say something, I asked Miles to sit in my lap on the grass in front of the stone. I had nothing planned and found myself sharing that this past year had been all about “big feelings” — a concept Miles and I are learning to embrace. “Babies cry to get help, then we learn words to express ourselves,” I told him. “But sometimes for both kids and adults, words aren’t enough to explain our big feelings.”
The fog of the first year of grief has begun to lift, and so has the unexpected layer of protection that came with it. I’m hesitant to say this, but I’m terrified. I don’t have a “plan.” The truth is that I’ve been worried about reentering the public eye when all I feel capable of right now is raw and sometimes uncomfortable honesty. What do I have to show for the last year? I haven’t penned a book, posted enough on social media, or “produced” anything other than an amazing, smart, sensitive kid, who — along with his mom — is getting really good at feeling big feelings.
The truth is that I’ve been worried about reentering the public eye when all I feel capable of right now is raw and sometimes uncomfortable honesty.
Bobbie Thomas
I’ve walked into Studio 1A more than a thousand times, yet my knees already feel weak when I think about stepping back inside. It makes no sense, as I have never known such support as the support I received from my TODAY family. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s because I know the moment Jenna squeezes my hand, or Hoda, with her huge heart, looks at me and says “it’s OK,” I will be exposed all over again.
What pushes me forward is knowing I’m not alone. While grief can be isolating, connecting with others has been my antidote — from Neil, the stranger on our holiday flight who pulled out his phone to show Miles and me a photo of his two brothers, whom he had just lost unexpectedly, to my friend Linn, whose husband tragically died one week before she delivered their first child. We can look at loss in so many different ways — as devastating, life-changing and heartbreaking, but also as the common denominator that makes us human.
In my personal life, I certainly have moments where I feel unprepared to handle this grief, but my professional platform has provided me with such an outpouring of love from others who have experienced loss. This support made such a difference for me. The notes and comments from people across the country — and the world — supported me in ways that sometimes the people right in front of me couldn’t. It’s hard to explain, but knowing that you aren’t alone, even when you feel like you are, can be the difference between a good day and an awful one. Now my wish is to boomerang all that support back — with my whole heart.
The notes and comments from people across the country — and the world — supported me in ways that sometimes the people right in front of me couldn’t.
Bobbie Thomas
I know that what I’ve learned and am learning about loss is valuable. For decades, I always thought of myself as a “professional girlfriend” — a real-life resource for people who need advice, encouragement or a shoulder to lean on. A girlfriend who is there to talk about beauty and fashion, dating, careers, parenthood — and now, grief. My role is continually evolving, just like I am.
We all need community. When I’m carrying pain all by myself, it’s heavy. But when I’m talking about it or helping someone else navigate theirs, it gets lighter. I feel better when I’m working to help others feel better. That’s my version of self-care and what brings me joy. It gives me purpose.
So, as I continue to figure out my own plan, I turn to you. The door is open; the girlfriend is in. I’m here, and I’m ready to navigate all of life’s “big feelings” alongside all of you.
Want to send your story to Bobbie? You can do so here.
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