After visiting a dear friend on the Maine coast in August, two months after the death of my husband, I came home to a beloved house deep in silence. Somehow it seemed to be waiting expectantly, no longer either home as familiar comfort or a house barren of love. Instead it felt like a space poised at the edge of transition, silently waiting as was I, to discover what might shift the life within toward embracing whatever was moving in from the horizon.

At first I deeply missed the continuous sound of sea birds, wind wafting through pine trees and waves lapping at the Maine shoreline, thinking “I need to move to Maine, somewhere nearer the ocean, my daughter and Bill’s ashes.” I had released his ashes into the Atlantic Ocean while visiting our mutual friend. After briefly scoping out what was available on real estate websites, however, I found nothing that sparked inspiration, joy or comfort.

Pushing through the cloud of fatigue that descended the following day with the return of deep grief, I dragged myself through what needed to be done, but still it was too early to end the day, so I forced myself to do the weekly recorded exercise routine I’d committed to as a way to keep this aging body strong, even though I wanted nothing more than to lie down again and do nothing. The stretching and strengthening movements loosened tense muscles and released blocked energy, mysteriously nourishing emotional peace and comfort in the unique way it often does. By then it was also late enough to allow myself to move into the comfortingly familiar habit of cooking and eating a healthy dinner before easing down with a novel to let the day go before drifting off to sleep.

The following morning I awoke to a clear sense that the energetic shift toward a new way of relating to life, which would contain enough joy to temper this endless grief, will not come from a drastic move to a new place. Instead, deepening connections within this community, with known and caring neighbors and friends, while feeding the energy needed to reach out to connect with others I don’t yet know by volunteering for group activities with like-minded people, would more likely be the necessary route through the dark forest of uncertainty that now opens around me every day.

I also began to see the importance of honoring solitude, though judiciously not continuously, treating it as a consciously measured yet important beat in life’s rhythmic dance. Rather than a separation from life’s flow, which grief can make solitude seem to be when focused only on the physical absence of loving connection, solitude in healthy amounts can be the space required to reopen the heart to the wonder of even deeper connection with life’s mysterious flow, with its latent potential in each unique moment. It’s also essential to writing practice!

As I considered that insight while rising into the day, it also struck me that by holding my grief as something more than emotional pain, recognizing it instead as the beautiful mirror image of a deeply shared love, I could perhaps raise the necessary confidence to move forward into yet-to-be-discovered aspects of this beloved home. Taking the first steps into the day with an intention to maintain that attitude as best I could, I began to imagine that continuing on with our creative project, even without Bill’s physical presence, could perhaps bring healing to this space somehow, as well as to myself, rippling out our circle of love to touch other shores.

In the end, no place will bring Bill back or make it possible to escape the deep grief I feel at his loss. However, if I can remain brave enough to refuse to sink permanently into grief’s marshy maw, and instead continue to move one step at a time into an emotional transition process that stems from the shared life we began here, with no expectations, staying curious, feeding courage, self-compassion and love for all that gives life to this beautiful, imperfect, impermanent place, then perhaps whatever changes need to be made will begin to flow naturally, allowing contentment to reemerge in a some new form.

Focusing my heart on gratitude for the opportunity to have experienced a love that continued to grow and deepen from the day we met all the way to the physical end of our union, and for the friends and family members drawn into its circle of belonging, also seems to keep that energy alive. This place is our place and now “our” needs to be a wider circle than just the two of us. Instead, if I can cross the rocky shores of this part of the journey, perhaps the love we shared can open doors of healing and comfort for those who now accompany me here in their intermittent presence, expanding the spirit held in the true meaning of home. The following poem from Francis Weller’s beautiful book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, speaks of this path I’m beginning to discover as I take the first steps along its winding way.

Prescription for the Disillusioned

by Rebecca del Rio