An op-ed by Lorraine Tallman, the driving force behind Amanda Hope Rainbow Angels, a nonprofit she founded following the loss of her daughter, Amanda.
Some love stories arrive all at once. Others take decades, circling, pausing, letting life unfold, before finally finding their way home.
Ours began in the late 1980s at a trade show in Chicago. I was setting up my booth when Jeff kept walking by, making small circles until finally he stopped, smiled, and said hello. He confessed he was a vendor too and simply wanted to meet me. That simple moment turned into an easy friendship, one built on laughter, long hours on concrete floors, and the kind of camaraderie only a “trade show family” understands. Over the years, we crossed paths at shows, referred customers to one another, and became a familiar comfort in an exhausting world.
Life, as it often does, took us in different directions.
I married, became a mother of three, and later found myself a single mom with children aged two, four, and six. Jeff and I tried to date long distance, every other weekend, shared trade shows, but love alone couldn’t compete with reality. As much as I adored him, I let go and moved forward.
Years later, life would ask more of me than I ever imagined.
I remarried a wonderful man, Marty, and together we built a beautiful life. Three years into our marriage, our precious daughter Amanda was diagnosed with leukemia. After a courageous three year battle, a brief remission, and then a devastating brain tumor diagnosis, Amanda Hope lost her fight at just twelve years old. Four years of relentless courage, faith, and love shaped our family forever.
The toll was immeasurable. A few years later, Marty, my rock through it all, passed away from stomach cancer. Out of unimaginable loss, our family foundation Amanda Hope Rainbow Angels, was how I got out of bed every morning. I devoted my life to supporting families walking the same painful road we once traveled.
I did not expect love to find me again.
Years after Marty’s passing, I returned to the trade show world I had known for twenty years, searching for butterflies for mindfulness kits for our foundation. Across the crowded floor, I heard my name shouted, and there was Jeff. My old friend. The one whose heart I once broke. The one who felt like a piece of another lifetime.
It felt as though a cloud lifted from both of us.
Jeff was still in the wholesale business, still unmistakably himself. He even had photos on his phone from our early days, thirty five years later. We stayed in touch after that meeting in Las Vegas, especially as he began sending back to school supplies and donations to Amanda Hope. My staff would laugh and ask, “Who is this Jeff guy? He’s earning serious brownie points.”
But what returned wasn’t just kindness, it was familiarity. Comfort. Laughter. A voice I had always known.
After a few months, Jeff gently asked if we should see whether there was still a connection between us. I agreed, thinking we were simply good friends. When he suggested our first date, he insisted it shouldn’t be New York or Phoenix. Instead, he asked a daring question, “Have you ever been to London?”
Neither of us had. So we went.
It was bold. Risky. What if the magic wasn’t there? I told myself that at the very least, I would be traveling with a friend. Instead, London gave us everything, Hamilton, Harrods, my birthday, quiet walks, laughter, and a feeling that had been waiting patiently for decades.
When I returned home, we kept talking. Jeff invited me to New York for Christmas and New Year’s, with one request from me, this Jewish girl from the Bronx would need a Christmas tree and a menorah. He happily agreed. That holiday, with Broadway shows, museums, Central Park, and my daughters by my side, felt like something sacred was unfolding. I think Jeff knew if my daughters did not like him, we would never make it.
Falling in love again was not easy.
Grief doesn’t disappear just because joy returns. I pulled away on anniversaries. On heavenly birthdays. Sometimes Jeff would be visiting, and I would abruptly ask him to leave. Yet he stayed, emotionally, patiently, unwaveringly. He made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t. He listened endlessly. One day he told me simply, “My life is better with you in it. I’ll take you anyway I can.”
He loved me in my broken places.
The moment I knew I was truly ready came at our Night of Hope gala last year. It was Marty’s birthday and the twelfth anniversary of Amanda Hope Rainbow Angels. As I stood sharing my journey, I looked down to see Jeff comforting my daughters. In that instant, I felt certain, Amanda and Marty had sent him to us. Not to replace love, but to help heal it.
Jeff honors Amanda every day. In retirement, he poured his heart into our foundation, packing comfort kits, sourcing toys and backpacks, using his import export expertise to help us reach families across the country. His love for our little warriors deepened our bond in ways words can’t capture.
When Jeff proposed, it was Valentine’s week in New York. Surrounded by friends before a performance of Anastasia, he raised a toast, spoke of his love, and asked me to marry him. I cried before I could answer. He smiled and asked, “Is that a yes?” It was. My daughters and parents had already given their blessing, creating a true circle of healing for both our families.
Our wedding is more than a celebration, it is a testament.
On December 31st, before ringing in 2026, we stood beneath a chuppah, honoring Jeff’s parents who are now in heaven and embracing the sacred beauty of Jewish tradition. Amanda was present through butterflies, photos, and words spoken by our Rabbi. She is, and always will be, part of us.
What takes my breath away most isn’t just becoming Jeff’s bride, it’s my mother’s smile. After years of worry, she knows I am finally safe, loved, and cared for.
Today, love means something different than it once did. It is not assumed. It is treasured. It is knowing tomorrow is never promised and choosing gratitude anyway. I have been blessed to be deeply loved by two husbands in one lifetime.
Love after loss is possible.
Your Angels want you to be happy. Watch for signs. Miracles are always closer than you think. As Amanda would always say “Big Hugs.”
amandahope.org
"It goes beyond becoming Jeff’s bride, it’s my mother’s smile. After years of worry, she knows I am finally safe, loved, and cared for."
"He loved me in my broken places. Love after loss is possible."