Finding Hope After Loss: A Journey of Healing and Self-Discovery
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Chapter 1: The Beginning of a Journey
It has been six hundred thirty-one days since I lost my husband unexpectedly. There were no farewells, no forewarnings—just silence where his voice used to be. It felt as if he simply vanished, an unshockable heart rhythm taking him mid-conversation while riding in our son’s car on the interstate.
For those who read on, I hope to offer comfort, inspiration, or a sense of community to anyone who has felt the sting of sudden solitude and devastation.
Since that day, I have embarked on my own path of healing. Grief is a deeply personal experience, and each person's journey is unique. Initially, I longed for a connection akin to "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir," hoping to feel his presence after his passing. Just hours later, a medium shared what he had supposedly communicated: “I sped away to wherever we go after this life, faster than the jets I used to fly.” He claimed to have witnessed everything happening around his body, sharing details only those close to us would know.
Whether you believe in such experiences is up to you; I do, and that belief keeps me grounded.
Dr. Benjamin Hardy once stated, “To be mentally and physically healthy, we need a future we’re excited about, hopeful in, and stretching toward.” Finding that future has been my greatest challenge since Mike’s departure.
For much of the past 21 months, I’ve been moving through life, taking care of responsibilities but feeling little excitement or hope. I often put on a brave face, convincing myself that I was strong while shielding others from my pain. But I know that a reckoning is inevitable.
It has felt as if my emotional walls have been crumbling—some shattered by my own hand, while others dissolved like mist in sunlight. I began to see who truly cared for me, independent of my husband’s presence.
Hearing someone say, “You should move to Florida. I can’t help you,” felt like a harsh reminder of my isolation. Grief can manifest in physical ways; I suffered an erratic heart rate, followed by sepsis, leading to a hospitalization where I caught COVID after successfully avoiding it for nearly three years. Now, I am slowly healing.
I often see myself as a mere shadow of my former self. The vibrant optimism I once radiated alongside Mike has dimmed, revealing a darker side that I had long managed to suppress.
Taking Care of Business
After Mike's passing, I waited eleven months before quitting my job. There were sudden, unacceptable reasons, leading to what became an unplanned early retirement. I don't regret this decision; staying in an unsatisfying job isn't worth it. Along with this change, my landlord raised my rent, prompting me to sort through my belongings. With the help of my oldest child and some family, I placed everything in storage.
Mike and I had discussed moving to Florida, so I decided to stay with a friend to explore the possibility of starting anew.
“Wherever you go, there you are.” — Thomas à Kempis, Imitation of Christ
I wasn't truly happy, but I understood that my discontent stemmed from within. Despite my location, I carried my sorrow with me.
Attitude is Everything
My mindset was bleak; I was still entrenched in a cycle of loss—family, friends, familiar places, my job, and my husband. This grief overshadowed any gratitude for what remained.
Three and a half months after my arrival in Florida, Hurricane Ian struck. I had smartly evacuated before it hit, but that meant I couldn't return home. I find no sense in enduring discomfort when it’s avoidable.
Just days before the hurricane, I traveled to Myrtle Beach to watch my son play in a baseball tournament, expecting to return home. Instead, Ian's destruction forced me to reconsider my path.
You might wonder if I felt cursed. The thought crossed my mind.
As the storm approached, I found solace in witnessing its fury from my hotel room, paralleling the chaos within my heart. I welcomed the tempest, feeling a sense of connection to Mike as I faced the storm.
After the storm passed and we were given the all-clear, I realized I had to make a choice about my next steps. So, I decided to tackle my bucket list, which had taken on new significance after Mike's passing.
The first video, The Road Trip of a Lifetime | OFFICIAL MOVIE - YouTube, illustrates the essence of embarking on a journey toward self-discovery and healing. It reminds us of the adventures life offers, even in times of sorrow.
Incorporating my husband's wishes into my journey, I felt compelled to experience the moments he never could. He found contentment in family and friends, whereas I constantly sought more—more experiences, more adventures.
I kept reflecting on the reality of how much time we often waste on insignificant matters. “If he could depart without warning, so could I,” I thought, urging myself to embrace life again.
Pragmatism Rules
I needed to break free from the fog that had settled over my existence. For too long, I had simply been going through the motions without joy, trapped in a mindset focused on loss rather than gratitude.
So, I set out westward. However, the longer I drove, the deeper my sadness became. I missed sharing the journey with Mike. The absence of his laughter and ideas felt palpable, especially as we passed signs for military bases that held cherished memories.
With each passing mile, anxiety crept in. What if something went wrong with the car? Towns were sparse, and the jagged mountains loomed like intimidating giants, obscuring their beauty in my grief-stricken mind.
My first bucket list stop was the Albuquerque Balloon Festival, but my hotel experience was disheartening. Thin walls and unsettling conversations surrounded me.
Balloon Ride Day minus One
I prepared meticulously for my hot air balloon ride the following morning, but arrived late due to heavy traffic. By the time I arrived, they had given my seat away and refused to refund my payment.
I felt utterly defeated. Was I cursed? I watched the balloons ascend, trying to find joy in their beauty, but tears fell unbidden. My husband would have made this experience joyful.
After the balloon launch concluded, I returned to my hotel room, a wave of despair washing over me. I sought comfort in sleep, my reset button.
“Then I did what I always do when life is too much. I took a nap.” — Kris Benevento
Naps have always provided clarity in challenging times. I reminded myself that while it’s natural to feel down, I shouldn't remain there. I aimed to focus on my goals and create something to look forward to.
Waking up to texts from friends asking about the ride, I chose silence over sharing my disappointment.
Cursed Again?
Frustration surged within me. I began to tally my setbacks. I had no connection to my husband, no communication with friends, and no nearby towns in sight as night fell.
Yet, I remembered I had my map, my intelligence, and a full gas tank. I reassured myself that I would find a hotel soon.
As I drove, I kept conversing with my husband’s spirit. I glanced at his obituary card and asked for guidance. His presence reminded me of my strength and competence.
I realized that my courage had wavered without his support, leaving me feeling timid and inadequate.
Finally, I passed a town with a hotel, though it looked run-down. I kept moving.
After what felt like an eternity, I found a hotel with availability. Though not ideal, I chose to stay, needing rest and a sense of security.
The next day’s drive was equally challenging, but I pressed on, determined to reach Arches National Park, which offered another unexpected adventure.
I arrived only to find that the park was full, but instead of despairing, I focused on the beauty surrounding me.
Everywhere I looked, I reminded myself of the miracles in life, recognizing my growth through adversity.