Sacred Memories

Since my husband died, I’ve been able to return to many places that we went together like restaurants, places we traveled, and homes of friends. However, one place I haven't been able to go back to is the last place we were together before his death: Costa Rica.

My husband introduced me to this beautiful country in 1999 for the first time. The connection with Costa Rica is part of who he is. His mother was born and raised there until she married his father in 1942. Costa Rica was literally in his blood. The attachment to Costa Rica became more significant in the early 2000s when he became involved in going there on missions trips. His love increased for the beautiful people and scenic landscape, as did mine. After a dozen mission trips, up until the time of his death, Costa Rica was his happy place.

I’ve often asked myself the question, why don’t I return? I’ve come up with a few responses.

The recurring thought I have that keeps me from returning is it was the most significant thing we did together. Our “coupleness” was defined by going to Costa Rica. When he was in charge of the missions trips, I was his assistant, working along aside him and helping him. My Spanish is limited. However, my husband spoke fluent Spanish and would get us to where we needed to go and communicate with the people we were serving. I realize now I was more dependent on him in Costa Rica than at home, in a good way. 

Another thought that I’ve considered is that I can’t not see Costa Rica separate from my husband. Going back for a vacation, even though it is one of the world’s most desired destinations, isn’t on my bucket list. My husband’s footprint is in Costa Rica.  

Lastly, I sense that I want to have the memories of Costa Rica stay the same, with my husband’s legacy all over them. I don’t want the connection to be separate. There’s a sweetness and sacredness to maintaining the bond.   

For now, I’m giving myself permission to remember my husband and the place he loved as is.

There’s a sense of honoring him and keeping his legacy in a beloved and beautiful place.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Growing Around Our Grief

Last week, I returned to a space where I frequently visited immediately after my husband died.  

It was a Pilates studio that I hadn’t been to in a few years. What I experienced when I entered the room was strange, yet familiar. This was a hallowed space; a place where I felt the grief in my body as I moved and attempted to wrap my head around the sudden loss of my husband. There was also a sense of healing as I entered the room. I wasn’t the same woman who came in five years ago. I was different.   

Today’s photo that is attached to this post is an appropriate visual to describe how we change as we grieve. We grow as we grieve.  

The first row of jars and balls is what our culture accepts and expects; that our grief will slowly diminish over time and eventually go away. Grief does not end. Our love for our loved one does not cease. Our grief changes who we are.

Dr. Mary-Frances O’Connor, professor and author of “The Grieving Brain”, says, “……for people who might believe they won’t feel grief again, that someday this will be ‘over’. It doesn’t matter how long it has been since the death, when you become aware of the loss of something so important, you will feel that momentary wave of grief. But that doesn’t mean it won’t also change over time, become more familiar, more manageable, or even the source of great compassion for others – even though it will never go away.” 

The second row is more accurate; our grief is always with us. It’s the place where the grief is housed that changes. We expand and make room for our grief. The empty space where we kept our loved one now is filling up with memories, different ways of doing things, new routines, and adjusting to a life without your loved one. 

We loved so we grieve. We grieve and we change. We find a grace-filled hope in a different life that we imagined. A blessing from Kate Bowler echos our hearts, “Blessed are we, who, instead demand a blessing. Because we have wrestled with God and are here. Wounded. Broken. Changed.”

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download