Continuing to Live
“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to the body and soul alike.” John Muir
Early in my grief journey, I went on a mission to find ways to survive. I had no clue what I was doing in the midst of a place where I had never been before. I played a scene in my head that went something like this: “While on a train, thinking I was going to arrive in Paris, the train abruptly stopped in the middle of a desolate desert of nothingness. I kept shouting to the train as it left me there that this was the wrong stop! I’m supposed to be going to Paris with my husband!” As I recall this scene in my head, I feel the familiar feelings of my early grief: shock, sorrow, sadness, and fear.
One tangible way I found to help me in those early months was to get outside. Walking, hiking, and moving my body was a part of my healing.
Another way I’ve found to heal was traveling. Three months after my husband suddenly died, I went to Hawaii with my two adult children. It was actually going to be a trip my husband and I were to take for our anniversary. I kept the reservation. Was it hard? Of course. Was I sad? Of course. But it was good.
Traveling became a way to process my pain and “leave the scene of the accident,” as a widowed friend who also travels says. New experiences bring beauty that heals our souls and bodies, as John Muir says. It’s a way to continue to live after we’ve lost our loved one.
Back to the scene in my head where I’m left in the desolate desert; I discovered what I didn’t expect; another train came by to take me to where I had not signed up to go. There were other people on the train who welcomed me and sat with me. As I looked out the window, I saw beauty in different ways. I had been rerouted into a new dimension.
Loss changes the course of our lives. Loss opens the door to a different future. Loss offers unexpected experiences as we continue to live. And we discover we don’t stay where we started.