My wife and I used to drive down to the lake every Sunday.
We’d pack sandwiches, find a quiet place, and spend most of the afternoon talking or watching the water.
After she died, I avoided going there.
It felt like a place that belonged to both of us, and I didn’t know how to be there alone.
A few weeks ago, I finally went back.
I sat in our usual spot and watched a family teaching their little boy how to skip stones.
He wasn’t very good at it. Neither was his dad, honestly.
They were laughing, and before I knew it, I was smiling too.
I sat there for a long time, remembering my wife and watching life continue around me.
I don’t know that I felt happy exactly. It was something quieter.
I felt connected to my past, to the people around me, and to the world that keeps moving even when our own lives change.
That’s the feeling I think about when I read the words on this site.