Writing this in Real Time early New Year’s Day. At precisely 12:01am, I experienced a deep sense of relief that 2025 had concluded softly without the loss of an immediate family member. I lost Rich in late 2021, my nephew who was the son of my late sister in May 2022 and my father and mother in 2023 and 2024, respectively. I did lose a beloved cousin, one of my remaining first cousin clan that once numbered 42, earlier this year.
Losses so close to one another can result in what is known as compound grief as there is no time to “properly” grieve one loss before experiencing another. It is made all the more difficult with the losses of those so closely entwined in your life in so many essential ways. I still envy those who get to gather with their familial loved ones not only during holidays, but year-round. Once-upon-a-time, that was my life, too.
In some ways, I feel those losses more strongly now. I’ve had a year of being able to at least begin to process and acknowledge them. The weight of each loss never leaves us, we just learn to carry it more efficiently.
The other day a discussion in a widow’s group turned to the subject of remaining in the home shared with one’s late spouse, or significant other. That was a subject close to my own heart because I’ve recently decided that the time has come for me to let go of the Dream House Rich and I created at the beginning of 2020 when we purchased a home in Georgia to launch our new life together. Did I mention that we’d bought that home online and only actually toured it the day of closing?
After Rich’s passing not long after, I refreshed and created my “new” version of that space and for a while, that worked. But, after a few years, despite the new paint colors and rearranged furniture, a restlessness set in and I became intriqued by a rural region of Florida, exploring towns that many native Floridians have never even heard of. I found myself drawn to the untouched natural landscape of Old Florida filled with with forests of palms, banana trees, ancient live oak, and endless miles of pastures and open land.
Two years after Rich’s passing, I found myself unexpectedly taking a two-hour drive south with my dog Quint to just take a look at a home that had caught my interest. By end-of-day, I’d made an offer that was accepted by the time I returned home. I was now the owner of a log home in rural Florida and soon after, I began a new life, with a new life partner, in what a friend once described as the middle of the middle of nowhere.
That lovely stucco ranch home in Georgia I nicknamed Villa Haven, and my new home in Florida, I now call Crescent Haven, are both so different from my Jersey roots. A different kind of haven for what is needed in the moment.
My move here was bold and unplanned, but I figured I always had my former home as back up. But, now with a new year ramping up, I’ve made some decisions. As I’ve learned, however, we can make those decisions, and launch our plans, but the universe ultimately shapes those directives. I will wait and see what becomes of my well thought out plans. Last year, when I took steps to sell that home, I ended up renting to a family in need of a haven after fire had damaged their home. We can’t even begin to imagine how the events affecting the lives of people we don’t even know can so unexpectedly impact our own.
In all of this action, I sat down the other day and counted seven real estate transactions in four states in which I’ve presided over during a chaotic five year period. I’ve learned so much about probate, laws and real estate ventures for better or worse. Although I stated that 2026 will be a year of “rest”, I know there could be all kinds of new havens on the horizon. I can’t wait to meet them. I go out into the world each day with the encouraging presence of those who are still with me in spirit.
May the new year bring challenges that you can meet as well, and paths to unexpected havens for a safe place to land. It never hurts to just “take a look.”
