“Home is wherever you are.” It wasn’t something we just said, it was something we lived, every single day, since the moment we met. He was my comfort, my joy, my light, my person.
When we lost Jason the world became a much darker place and my world shattered into an infinite number of pieces, if it even existed at all anymore. There are still no words to describe the void I felt when he died; I feel his loss on a cellular level.
I began seeing a therapist about ten days after his death knowing that if I didn’t get help, I would dive into a trench so deep it would be impossible to escape. After a few months, the despair was still severe and I traveled to a state of mind I began calling the “dark place.”
In that place, I pondered constantly how I could get to Jason again. I wanted to continue moving forward with my life, but my longing for him was so intense it became all-consuming. I simply wanted to be home.
Medication was suggested to help keep me out of the “dark place.” Worried about the effect it may have on my personality, I initially fought the idea. Through research guided by my therapist and doctor, I made the decision to try. I was already religiously exercising and ensuring proper nutrition and it seemed another viable option - anything was better than those guttural moments of anguish when I thought my insides would tear me apart.
And I’m really glad I took that leap. I still felt like “me” on meds; the sadness and longing were still present, but the lowest of low places had been mitigated and the “dark place” was swept away. The brain is an organ, no different than your heart or liver, and mine needed a little extra help to get healthy. Admitting that was, and is, difficult, but there’s no doubt in my mind it was the right decision.
Once my brain started to heal I began to think about traveling again. I wanted to escape what felt like a paper-bag prison around my brain. Jason and I had booked a trip to Europe for April and while I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow our itinerary, I still wanted to adventure to places I had yet to experience. I dove headfirst into planning, researching flights, hostels, camping, AirBnb, backpacking. The logistics of a month long European itinerary kept me busy and engaged, and when some friends and family asked to join for various parts of the trip, my excitement heightened. Four AirBnbs, six hotels and eight flights later, I had decided on Spain, Scotland, and Norway.
I left Boston for a month and explored places I thought only existed in my dreams. The food, the people, the music, the art, the landscapes – the literal everything - was soul-crushingly refreshing and beautiful. I met some of the kindest, most gracious humans along the way and had to pause multiple times to remind myself it was, in fact, not a dream. I still missed Jason, every single day, and I felt him with me multiple times as I explored. I reveled in moments of sheer bliss, all the while longing to hear his voice or feel his touch. I felt sad watching the most striking sunset I had ever seen wishing he could view it alongside me, while simultaneously in a state of complete awe and wonderment, grateful to be alive and present in that moment. My perspective started to shift and I began to feel at home in places that were brand new.
Svolvaer, Lofoten, Norway. 4/27/19
The culmination of hundreds of moments like the ones above, where I stopped trying to focus singularly on grief OR joy, led me to the greatest realization of my life thus far: grief and joy are not opposing or diametrical forces, but parallel ones. I allowed them to subsist alongside one another and share the same emotional space; feeling the cutting daggers of heartbreak forced me to open my eyes wider to the wonderment that was right in front of me. There was an abundance of laughter, a lot of tears, a few hilarious missteps, and most importantly there was SO MUCH LIVING.
Now over eight months out from his death, I find myself appreciating more. I feel what I need to feel when I need to feel it and as a result, I’m becoming a kinder, more understanding human. No amount of travel or experience will mitigate this loss but I have learned that I can do more than just survive in this new reality; I can live, too.
So, why am I here? I’m here to share, collaborate, and connect with others who want to journey through life gratefully living, and not just surviving. I’m here to share stories, photos, recommendations, and create a dialogue about love and loss and life from a ground-floor perspective. I’m here to share my travel experiences – past, present, and future – and work through how they contribute to a continuum of peace after loss. I’m here to share the wins, the losses, the successes, and perhaps most importantly – the blunders.
This journey is certainly not linear and I would never suggest that there is one true way to grieve. Or to live for that matter. I have learned that opening my mind and heart to new experiences has allowed my internal landscape to flourish more than I could have ever imagined. I’m looking forward to sharing this voyage with whoever wants to join me. Where shall we go next?
Gothic Quarter, Barcelona, Spain. 4/12/19