The Nature of Grief's Journey

Lake Ontario in Rochester from the Charlotte Pier (do you see the heart?)

I recently returned from a long awaited trip home to Rochester. I had been calling it a vacation and though I took "vacation time", honestly that's not the right name. At first I thought to call it a retreat—which was what I did last year at this time, visiting with two amazing women: first my Aunt in New York's Southern Tier and then my friend Judy at Peace Village in the Catskills. Those visits brought me solace in the midst of the unbearable pain of early grief. This trip was different. It was a true pilgrimage to my childhood home, family and friends, and of course to the graves of Jim, Mom, Dad and so many other generations in both of our families.

I've come to accept that I will always carry sorrow in my heart just the same way I used to hold joy. My hope is that some day they balance out a bit differently than they do now, that I will become more accustomed to the deep sadness and learn to flow with and anticipate those events, people, and places that pull the scab off of my heart and leave it so fully exposed. This pilgrimage brought both—joy at connecting with folks I haven't seen in quite a long time and sorrow being where Jim and I first began our stories. I kept wanting to call him and say "Honey, you won't believe who I saw today and where I went." It was amazing how strong this urge was‚ as if Jim was home and I was away.

Most comforting was being with my beautiful Aunt, now seven years into her widowhood and so resilient. At 79, she spends a good part of her year, alone in a beautifully remote location in Amish country, feeding deer, tending to a rooster and two chickens, with a routine and friends that she enjoys. Freely we talk about how to go on, our lost loves, and now her new one! She is kind of like my guru.

At my Aunt's

My beautiful Aunt MaryJo

Her rooster Chuckie and a hen. She made me eggs every day for breakfast even if I protested.

Aunt MaryJo, me, and her dog.

Connecting with family in Rochester—splitting time between staying at my brother Dan's and my sister-in-law, BFF Cathy's also gave me time to relax, admire, and enjoy their hospitality (thank you for your masterful dinners Jerry!) and even a small family gathering hosted for me by my brother. So cool to catch-up with everyone and all the littles who I've hadn't met or just barely saw in the midst of a pandemic and Jim's cancer.

My sister-in-law Joanne's lovely gardens

My great nephew Kayden and me. He loved drinking water as I held the cup almost as much as I loved holding him!

High school best friends: Cathy, Missy, and me down at our former teenage stomping grounds in Charlotte where of course we had Abbott's ice cream.

The entire trip was centered around a multi-generation DeMarle family reunion in Fair Haven, NY. It is amazing how easy it is to be with folks who are kin—cousins and nieces, nephews, siblings—even if you barely know them. For the first time in years, and maybe ever, I slept in a tiny one person tent that Jim and I had bought many moons ago (yes that made me sad) on  tiny blow-up mattress (yes pretty proud of myself for being able to do that). I was joined by my rambunctious 20 something year old twin nieces Kate and Julia, my youngest brother Dave, his wife Patti, their twin teen daughters Maggie and Dorie, and my little twin of a different generation niece Josie. Josie is the youngest of that generation, I'm the oldest of mine. We were both born to David DeMarle's on the same date though 50 some years apart. On this trip it was very cool to see how delightfully she has grown and to listen to all her thoughts and hopes. Who could not possibly feel joyful with that company and campfires!

Family: myself, Dave, and my cousin Micheal. No family resemblance here  ;-)

Our tents. Mine is the tiny one. Julia and Kate have the ladybug!

One of my camping buddies—my niece Julia.

And of course while in Rochester, I visited our grave almost every day. It brought tears but also such peace. I know that Jim, Mom, and Dad aren't really contained there but it is like a magical portal to feeling their presence.

At the foot of our graves

The most difficult part of the journey may have been the drive home alone—across routes Jim and I so many times traveled together. My tears were non-stop but I listened to an Archer Mayor mystery—just as we used to do and that kept me company—with an ice cream cone when I hit Vergennes, Vermont (yes, also as we always used to do).

Today I'm finally feeling on keel again, like after a summer storm when the clouds lift, a coolness enters the air and you can sense all the greenest of life saying "Thank you". I've found that it's true: grief and love are one and the same. I've learned that the deep pain of my grief is because of the deep joy of our love. Like true soulmate love, grief is forever. I've also learned through this journey that giving myself room to feel, not avoiding, trapping, or subverting my feelings, that is where I become re-centered and return to the heart of home.

With the littles at Dan's (thank you Dan).

Ironically or perhaps not, one of my Calm meditations while traveling

Finding center