I have been doing some updates around the house. We’ve been here 26 years; it is time. By letting the light in, I am feeling life again. Opening the blinds in the morning lifts my spirits. Natural light floods all the spaces and the darkness flees. For the past year, gloom has kept the windows closed. The heaviness I have felt needed the shadows. Grief requires rest. Rest requires darkness. I needed to be curled up in a cave-like space. A cocoon of sorts. But I have finally caught up on my sleep. My nervous system is beginning to reset. I am aware that the trauma of the losses in quick succession will never go away completely. But the sting is lessening.

To update a space, you have to clean it out first. (Yes, it’s a metaphor. J ) To put down new carpet required the rooms be emptied. Throwing out the clutter. Opening up the curtains. Looking at each item and making some choices about what serves me going forward. Paring down to the essentials and getting rid of all the fluff stuff. Reimagining each space to determine if changing the arrangement would benefit the flow. In this process of renewing spaces, I have been renewing my roles as well. Figuring out what goes where. What space, if any, do the roles require?

It reminds me of the empty nest phase of life. When my kids moved out, I was lost for a time. Rearranging physical spaces as their items left the house forced introspection. My role as a mother was a huge part of my purpose. That is not a bad thing…but I had to recognize that was no longer my role; at least not on a daily basis. I had to rethink my identity. Find my own interests again. I got to pick what I wanted to do with my time vs. having my kids schedules to dictate it. It was a big adjustment and I felt like I was wandering and being blown by the wind, without focus. And while it was freeing to let go of the responsibilities of daily mothering, it was also hugely disorienting.

Now I am navigating the post-parent phase of life. I am no longer a daughter. That role, which I have filled my entire life, is gone; at least in the physical sense. My question is: Now what? Who am I? Again, it is an identity shift. A role I have filled is no longer needed. My purpose has changed. Only this time, my foundation shifted with it.

Maybe it was the speed with which I became an orphan, or maybe losing both parents is always this life altering. I don’t know. I only know that I am floating on the wind again. Who I was when they were here has changed because they are not here. I am not with them, therefore; the parts of me that came alive when we were together are gone. They call it secondary loss and at the moment, I am full up with secondary losses. Sometimes they are harder than the loss itself.

I will never be the same. I have come to realize that. Again, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. New Seasons are a part of life. And there are seasons that are thrust upon you without your consent. Empty nest is one. Post parents is another. You know these events are coming someday. You know they are part of life. You even think you are ready. Surprise! Not true. No matter how much you know, when the time comes to release, it can steal your breath away.  

Finding my bearings in this new place has been a challenge. I am still a bit wobbly, but I am out of the cocoon. Taking it very slow. Opening my wrinkled wings. The light is streaming in through the windows causing me to look up. To believe I might fly again one day, once my wings are fully opened. There is a new tiny little sprout sticking its head up through the soil of my heart. Resolve? Resilience? Hope? I am not sure yet, I just know good things happen when I let the light in.  

I took these photos at the Gainesville Botanical Garden. A little taste of a new season coming.