Taking on responsibilities for home repairs was my husband’s job. He loved going to Home Depot and Lowe’s. Me, not so much. It’s a place that is overwhelming, unfamiliar, and I can never find a person to help me.

One of the first times I went to Home Depot after my husband died was to find a lock/latch for a sliding glass door. I took the broken lock with me and wandered around the store, confused, as I tried to find someone to help me. Eventually, I found a clerk who sent for another person to help me. The clerk helped me find the latch, and I was on my way. Driving home, I was satisfied that I did something entirely out of my comfort zone.

Life is so utterly different after loss. We take on new roles, other identities, and unfamiliar responsibilities. Necessity demands it. Grief defines it. And we don’t have to like it.

But we can adapt, adjust, and accept it over time. One friend of mine is a do-it-yourselfer and watches YouTube videos when it comes to household repairs. She is my hero. I recently watched a YouTube video to find out how to change the battery in my Fire TV Stick remote.

Last week, after church, I made another trip to Home Depot. I’m getting the hang of it now. I took the light bulbs that I needed to replace with me and found a clerk in the lighting aisle immediately. She was able to show me the exact replacement bulbs I needed. While I was being helped, a woman I had met at church that morning walked by, and I greeted her. She recently lost her husband earlier this year. She was now a part of the Home Depot Widows Club.

Life after loss is different. There is no new normal. Each time I have to do an unfamiliar task, I pray, “Okay, Lord, You have to help me with this.” And He does. We are not alone, and we can do hard things.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

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During July, I made a deliberate decision to unplug from social media. Throughout the spring, I noticed I was spending too much time on my phone. Every Sunday morning, my phone would tell me how much time I had spent on it. I sensed I was not paying close attention to my inner life, and it was affecting my outer life. In addition, I took a break from writing, stepped back from ministry, and took an adventure with my daughter.

What did I miss? A few friends' birthdays, photos of grandchildren, and funny reels. However, I didn’t miss the ache of seeing photos of couples celebrating another anniversary.

What did I discover? No longer scrolling made room for noticing; looking up and not down at my phone, paying attention to what was happening in the moment, rather than what other people were doing, as well as being content with where I was, without comparing my life to that of others.

I called it “my space for grace.” There’s a beautiful photograph hanging on the wall in my living area, given to me by the photographer. He knew my husband and gave me the picture after my husband died. It’s been on my wall for 6 years. I pass it every time I go to the garage. But every now and then, I stop and take a closer look. I look at the buildings. I look at the vineyard. I look at the sky. I examine the details. The photograph is filled with nuances of beauty that can only be seen when you pause and look, not pass and glance.

Dr. Curt Thompson, author of “Anatomy of the Soul,” gave a reminder at a conference where I heard him speak recently: “We pay attention to what we pay attention to.”

My month off social media allowed me to slow down, pay attention, and take a closer look at what was going on inside. My grief is still there. It’s softened in some ways and is less intense. It comes along in moments when I least expect it. I’ve discovered in the “space for grace,” there’s room for my grief to remain.