When we downsized it was with the plan to buy a small weekend retreat in Canmore with the extra money from the sale of our house. Over the last year we have been looking for just the perfect spot. What I thought would be a simple and exciting adventure has turned into a battle of endless meetings with mortgage specialists, bankers, realtors, and insurance agents. It has not been easy. At the end of the day, we did find a little treasure with a beautiful mountain view. It checks off all the boxes of a place that will be there for family and friends to rejuvenate in. So why am I not ecstatic?
Grief has a way of playing with our emotions and depleting our energy. The work we have put into getting this place and my fears around will this investment pay off have clouded the fact that I now own my small piece of heaven. It is further complicated by the fact that this is Zane’s wish, and he will not physically be able to join me. I have no energy left to feel joy.
When joy tries to enter our lives after we have lost a loved one, we seem to question it. Perhaps because it is different than the joy we had experienced before loss. Joy has become a stranger to the heartbreak we have been consumed with. When it arrives now, it is softer. It is quieter. It brings with it that nasty bittersweet taste. It brings with it guilt. It brings with it a tone of sadness. The reminder of ‘how life should be’ is not what we hold. Joy, after grief, is more complicated.
I heard my husband say to a friend that he watched me walk into our (new) condo and my smile was something he has not seen since Zane left. I didn’t realize I had smiled. I do know that on the balcony, facing the mountains, I could feel his spirit. I could feel an invisible hug from the mountains whispering to me, “welcome home”. And that feeling brought me to tears and standing there alone I thought to myself perhaps there can be healing here.
With that wee bit of hope, I pondered later how could I bring the joy of this place to fruition. How can I let go to really be happy about what we have? And I realized that I need to bring Zane in. I need to do what we grief warriors have been taught to do. In everything we do, we must honor those we have lost. If this is going to be a place of healing, it must have some characteristics of those I miss. It must reflect their likes and it must be filled with treasures that bring me peace. How do I turn our revenue property into a place of healing? Not just for me, but for anyone who comes into our place. How do I create an environment that will bring comfort and joy?
With that, my energy raised. I have a place that I can turn into a safe spot where my soul can experience a reprieve. I can take my bittersweet, melancholy life and plop it in front of the majestic mountain view, allowing nature to do what she does best. Ground me. Connect me. Remind me that Zane is still here. This plan of action opens my heart for joy, in its new form, to arrive.
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