This past week marked an important milestone in my widowed process. It was a year ago on a hot August day, with only Quint by my side, that I made an appointment with a realtor to look at three properties in a small rural town in the Lake District of Central Florida two hours south of where I was living.

At that time, I’d just returned from an event called Camp Widow in San Diego filled with the strength and encouragement buoyed by the presence of hundreds of others who’d lost spouses, partners, significant others and most of all their best friend. It’s comforting to be in a place where you are understood without speaking a word. 

I’d arrived home from San Diego not feeling well due to the intensity of attending Camp Widow for the very first time as a Presenter, no less, so early into my own loss. That, and a long flight with air as frigid as a meat locker. I was exhausted, but inspired at the same time. It took me a few days to recover physically. 

Inspired by Camp Widow and all that happened upon my return, I’m currently drafting a memoir with the goal of a completing a strong First Draft by September 28 which marks the occasion of my 28th Wedding Anniversary. It’s a lofty goal, but one that’s positive and honors a special milestone as I anticipate the third anniversary of Rich’s passing on October 28. Number 28 has always played a significant role in my life.

When I returned from San Diego, my mindset had shifted. I’d written in a prior post on how it’s difficult for many widowed people to stay in the shared home of their past, however, because I loved the home Rich and I had created, I wanted to remain. I’d had the interior painted, took down the heavy drapes I never really liked and rearranged furniture to inject new life.

And it worked. At first.

So, I started looking for a small place to escape the daily reminders of a life so changed. I knew the coast was too expensive and insurance not easily obtained, so I looked at the lake region of Florida and its more reasonable offerings. I was searching for a personal vacation get-away place and a rentable vacation property in a certain price range. 

I had my list, but that third home, was a wild card. I’d been stalking it from afar so now I just had to see it not truly believing it could be my future home.

The rest is history and for brevity, let’s just say, I ended up making this place my home. September 8 will mark the official date of “closing”.

But not entirely.

I couldn’t give up that “dream home” two hours north and how it still connected me to what I call my “raft years” – those years that dislodged me from our home state of New Jersy – a time when I found myself adrift in a new community in a new state, not quite settled. I clung to that home; a raft spinning in a river of emotions with its strong currents knocking me about until I could find a safe place to land. 

Now, with my tenants in Georgia ready to move on to their new place, I need to make some big decisions about that beautiful home that still holds a piece of my heart and past with some great memories and good friends and neighbors. I’ll spend time this fall cleaning out and will most likely sell, but not before giving it some extra love. Only I will know when it’s time to close that door.

I also know that I’m very fortunate to have this “problem” and proud of the fact that hardwork and good choices have made this life possible. I’ve learned to let each day reveal future possibilities and I know a path forward always seems to present and all involved are often better for it.