Daughter of the Moon

I came to Florida for two weeks with no clear idea of what to expect. Two weeks with my wonderful stepson and my charming daughter-in-law. Come move in, move down, don't be alone so far away. I think I came to prove that I can't leave my Northeast, my four seasons, my changing leaves, and most of all, my house, our house, the place where all the memories lie.

What I found was peace. I found that I don't need to sit in the room with his urn, talking to his urn, to his picture, to be with him. Wherever I am, Nick is with me. There are times this week that I have missed him with the same pain as the first day. There have been more times that the pain has receded into the background, and I have realized that life does and must go on. I see a whole new world around me.

Standing on Nokomis Beach, listening to the drum circle, I thought how Nick would have liked it. Then I realized something: the Nick of the past few years would not have liked it. He would have grumbled and complained. The Nick of twenty years ago would have liked it. He would have wanted to and may have even joined in. And the me of twenty years ago would have been right along with him.

His age and his health sidelined us both, especially the past few years. For longer than I realize, life revolved around his health issues. But I was reborn that night on Nokomis Beach. A great pain was washed away in the waters of the Gulf. I had to choose: identify as the widow, who might as well have been wearing the traditional black, or identify as me, the free spirit of my Halloween outfit this year.

I chose life. I will always be the hippie I once was; I will always be his widow; but most of all, I will always be me. Me, slightly off kilter, living on that ledge where predictable and unpredictable meet, following the dreams that must be mine alone now.

Life continues, and so must I.