The reality is you will grieve forever. You will not “get over” the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal, and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never the same. Nor should you be same, nor would you want to. ~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross & David Kessler (On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss)
I have found these words to be true. It’s thirty-four years now since my mother died and I have healed and have learned how to live with that never-ending feeling of painful loss. After my father died twelve years ago, grief was much more familiar to me and I more quickly got used to feeling like an orphan. But now, to be a widow.
I miss my husband so much. How is this much pain even possible? The loss feels like it’s cutting even deeper than the loss of my parents because I intimately shared my life with this man for more than fifty years. My days are full of memory flashes, as if my brain wants to watch the video of our whole life together in bits and pieces. (I think in pictures.) So I pause whatever I am doing, recall the scene, cry a little, talk to him a little, and then try to remember what I was doing and carry on.
Sunday evening I took another very long two-hour walk with my friends. It was cold and the atmosphere felt like it was going to snow. It was magical. (It did snow the next day in some places nearby, but not at my place.) Very healing and I am so grateful for their love and support. We were still out there when the sun set. A good memory.
11.23.25 ~ Bolin Creek, Bolin Forest (late autumn forest floor)
The Sunday before Thanksgiving my friends and I took a very long two-hour walk, way up Bolin Creek, until we got to the ruins of a colonial gristmill, millrace and dam. It was exhilarating.
water level low due to moderate drought
first glimpse of the mill, across the creek (zoom lens)
farther along the trail we found a bridge across the creek
Bolin Creek view from the bridge
There was a path along the top of that ridge on the right (above), heading back in the direction of the ruins. On the other side of the ridge was the millrace, now dry.
the sun backlit this huge leaf along the way
There was a tiny bridge going over the millrace so we had a chance to see parts of the crumbling foundation walls from both sides. With all the vegetation filling in the area it was difficult to figure out what exactly we were looking at, where the mill itself might have actually been situated.
I found a bit of conflicting information online about who owned the mill, but hope to find out more about it one of these days. It’s something to contemplate, someone laying these stones here 260 years ago.
another backlit leaf, caught between fungi and twigs
I am often at a loss for words these days, but a couple of hours of birdwatching with a new friend was a welcome interlude in the grieving process.
northern cardinal
white-throated sparrow
white-throated sparrow
downy woodpecker
eastern towhee
eastern towhee
northern cardinal
The beauty, variety, and unexpected behaviors of birds can inspire feelings of joy, awe, and wonder, which can be a powerful counterbalance to grief. ~ AI
Hard, hard it is, this anxious autumn, To lift the heavy mind from its dark forebodings; To sit at the bright feast, and with ruddy cheer, Give thanks for the harvest of a troubled year.
From the apprehensive present, from a future packed With unknown dangers, monstrous, terrible and new— Let us turn for comfort to this simple fact: We have been in trouble before . . . and we came through.
We have ceased trying to tie up all loose ends. We have discovered that life does not need to be neat. We have more questions than answers, and this is a great delight to us. We trust the Mystery of life without having to possess It. We cherish the feeling of awe that has grown within our soul. ~ William Martin (The Sage’s Tao Te Ching: Ancient Advice for the Second Half of Life)
On Saturday my son-in-law came to my rescue and figured out how to get pictures from my camera onto my laptop, and then patiently taught me how to do it myself. My daughter spent most of her weekend organizing and updating my important papers, accounts and digital information, for which I am grateful because I am so brain-numb and overwhelmed these days.
On Sunday my friends came over for another long walk and this time I brought my camera along. Naturally I forgot to bring an extra battery but I did get a few pictures before the battery in the camera ran out. It’s a start. I’ll get the hang of things again eventually.
The change of the landscape’s prevailing tint from green to brown is not a cheerful one. Look wheresoever one may, he is pretty sure, in November, to drift into a brown study, and this is seldom exhilarating. ~ Charles Conrad Abbott (Days Out of Doors)
I never noticed before this old abandoned car a little way off the trail. (above) It’s been completely filled with rocks. We wondered how long it’s been there.
beech leaves turning from green to yellow to brown
Also on Saturday my granddaughter and I took a walk and she found three broken-off beech twigs with yellow leaves intact. She brought them home and put them in a vase for me.
