By Tia Coppus, (right in photo) assistant governor of District 7710 and a member of the Rotary Club of Cary-Kildaire, North Carolina
Sometimes there are moments in life that shift everything. Some of you may have experienced one, and some of you may not have yet. But when it happens, you feel it deep in your soul. For me, that moment came through Rotary.
In October of 2021, I lost my husband to cancer. After months of caretaking during COVID, the silence that followed was overwhelming. Seven days after his passing, a dear friend — someone I’d first met through Rotary — called me and said, “You need to come next Thursday for dinner. We want to see you.”
At that point, I hadn’t been out much in almost 19 months. I was emotionally drained, uncertain how to reenter the world. My thoughts raced: What if I’m not okay? What if I break down in front of people? What if I bring everyone else down?
There were days when I’d simply sit in the car with the sunroof open, driving with no destination, just trying to breathe. But something about that invitation tugged at me. Maybe I needed connection more than I realized. So, I decided to show up.
When I walked into that Rotary dinner, I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t seen my club in so long, and I was nervous. Vulnerable. Unsure if I’d be able to hold it together. But before I could even sit down, a woman I had never met wrapped her arms around me and said, “Welcome! We’re so glad you’re here.”
She had joined the club during those 19 months I’d been away, and yet her hug felt like it came from someone who had known me forever. It was genuine, immediate, and healing.
In that moment, surrounded by familiar faces and new friends, I realized something profound: I wasn’t alone.
All around me were people who had been part of my life’s journey in ways both big and small. There were Rotarians who had sung Christmas carols in my driveway during the pandemic, just to bring joy to my family when I couldn’t leave the house. There were those who had organized a fundraiser to send my husband on a bucket-list trip we never thought possible. There were people who had quietly dropped off meals, sent texts, and checked in — over and over again.
As I sat there that night, I could feel the warmth in that room. No one asked difficult questions or forced conversations. They simply offered presence, compassion, and community. And that was enough.
That evening became what I now call my Rotary moment — the realization that Rotary isn’t just about the service projects, fundraisers, and global initiatives we proudly support. It’s about the heart behind it all.
We often talk about the difference we make in the world: eradicating polio, fighting hunger, supporting education, and improving access to clean water. But what we sometimes forget is how much Rotary gives back to us, the members.
Rotary gives us belonging. It gives us purpose. And, in my case, it gave me hope.
When I walked into that dinner, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face people again. But when I walked out, I knew I had found a community that would carry me through the darkest moments of my life.
Rotary has a way of doing that — of showing up quietly, lovingly, when you need it most. It reminds you that even when you’re the one who’s used to giving, it’s okay to receive.
So, if you are searching for connection, service, and a place to belong — Rotary might just be the answer. It certainly was for me.
