Last month I had a garage sale. My last garage sale was 10 years ago, and it was time to go through stuff again to lessen the load of things I no longer needed. After my husband suddenly died in 2018, I went through most of his things in the house, but not in the garage. Tools, camping gear, and collectibles were in unopened boxes in the rafters and in cupboards. As I opened boxes, a flood of memories of camping trips with my husband and children came to mind. Grief was waiting in the wings, always slyly standing by,

One item I had kept was my husband’s bicycle. He had it before we met, and it was a staple in our garage, hanging upside down from the rafters. It was just a thing, but the attachment was there because it was my husband’s. Grief appears to have tentacles.

As I looked around, I recognized that I kept all the stuff in the garage because it was my husband’s, not because I needed any of it. His bike, baseball hats, thermos, work shirts, and books, all of which allowed me to feel like I still had a connection with him. Strangely, it was like I checked a bag at the airport and got a ticket to claim my bag after my flight. But there would be no opportunity to retrieve my bag. The ticket was a permanent reminder of what I no longer had. The remnant surrounded me as I stood in the midst of my messy garage.

Creating an enduring connection with our loved one is part of the grief process. We each find our own unique way to keep them close. It’s what we do, holding onto things that are meaningful.

I gave my husband’s bike to someone who loves biking, and I kept a shirt and a hat that my husband wore. My connection with my husband isn’t just in stuff, but in the meaningful memories I carry with me as I move forward.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

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.