The other day, an archived Facebook post, and accompanying photo, caught me by surprise. It was the first photo I’d taken of the log home I’ve since come to call home for the past three years. August 2nd, 2023. It was the day I’d actually toured the home in person after staring at it online for well-over a month. It was also the first time I’d ever stepped foot in this town! I‘d no plan when I came to “just look” at this place, but as I followed the realtor down an unpaved road with my little dog, Quint, in the back seat, I found myself intrigued by this unique place called Old Florida.   

                                                                                                                                                        

On the three-year anniversary of that day, while driving down that same unchanged dirt road that leads to my home, I slowed and tried to relive and capture what I felt that very first time I traveled it. I remember thinking there was no way I could see myself living in such a rural place, but I also found it uniquely enchanting and I felt adventurous in a way I hadn’t in a long time, I was excited about something again.

These days I’ve been doing a “final” edit of a memoir that I’ve been working on for two years now. I know I talk about it often and will share when I can. It’s been a therapeutic project and process and I know it’s gotten stronger and more clear with each edit. Coming upon that archived post helps me to recall so many events leading up to that moment that inspired me to vacate my comfort zone and follow my instincts. If you like inspiring accounts, and dogs, then I hope this read will be one for your future list.

I still read each day on sites for widows about how many of them (widowers, too) find it hard to get, and keep, motivated on many levels. I understand how that can happen and there are so many factors that can affect the state of one’s post widowed life. I’ve always been a resilient person, however, there are times when I just don’t feel like writing, or doing much of anything. But, as I near the weary five year milestone of surviving widowhood and its subsequent struggles, I’ve learned to embrace those moodier days, allowing myself to take stock in how far I’ve come. I will save that for a later post. 

As I was drafting this post, I also saw another archived photo of a trip I’d taken back to my home town of Hackensack, New Jersey, in August 2021. I’d flown up from Georgia to help my mother ready our family home for its sale. Rich and I had already moved my father to be with us in the South. I had no idea, obviously, that within less than three months my life would change so profoundly. These images help me to reflect and take stock of all that has happened since.

Some days I get homesick for my home city and neighborhood overlooking New York City, and my formative times spent there. I miss the unique energy and genuine straightforwardness of the people. I wonder sometimes if I’d returned north after Rich’s passing I would’ve been able to create a happy life there, but, sadly so many family members and friends, have gone on. Would it just be a shadow of my former life?

I’ll always be a Jersey Girl at heart, but I give myself credit for opting instead, for the great unknown at my three year anniversary of living in Old Florida. In sharing this part of my Widow Story, I hope to inspire others to find their own version of navigating our unexpected circumstances after profound loss. May you get to experience your own version of how I felt the first time I drove down that unpaved road.

Thanks for allowing me to be part of your own paths forward.