We can honor those we love and those we’ve lost by being present

I’m writing this column from one of my favorite places with two of my most beloved people. It’s an overcast morning here at my little creek house on the eastern shore of Maryland, and I’m nestled in a rocking chair with a cup of black coffee, something I would’ve done with my late husband, Jeff, before he died from ALS in May 2020.

Beside me are Jeff’s brother Steve and my sister-in-law, Diane. Though we see each other often throughout the year, a relaxing vacation together has become a cherished tradition that we look forward to each summer. Usually we rent a house on Green Lake in Michigan (Jeff’s family grew up in Michigan, and many of them still live there today), but this year, we’re in Maryland instead.

I know I’m fortunate to have a close and healthy relationship with Jeff’s family, who have long been family to me, too. I know that’s not the case for many others, something with which I empathize. I, too, have lost relationships and loved ones, some due to their fear, some due to my absence because of caregiving, so I understand this pain as well.

But this morning, I’m feeling grateful and lucky for the connection I share with Jeff’s large family. I’m grateful for the inside jokes, including the ones that have endured since Jeff was alive and others we’ve created in our time together since he died. I’m grateful for the way his family’s sense of humor helped us cope during some of the heaviest moments of Jeff’s ALS and afterward.

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Six years seems like both the blink of an eye and a very long time. In those years, we have celebrated weddings, new babies, and graduations, but we’ve also experienced a lot of pain, such as the loss of Jeff’s dad and other family crises. Surgeries and serious illness have altered plans, including our annual Green Lake get-together.

This week in Maryland is different, but special and meaningful in its own way. We’ve boated a bit, rested a lot, and enjoyed meals together at my dining room table, which is usually never full enough. My brother-in-law (he cooks, I clean) commented last night that he was sorry I had so many dishes to do, to which I responded that I considered it a gift, not a chore.

Buoyed by Steve and Diane — and the reminder that material things don’t matter, people do — I was able to peacefully say goodbye to Jeff’s old beat-up pots and pans that I kept for way too long for sentimental reasons. Steve is a gourmet cook and helped me choose a new set that I already love. We used them this week, so they already have meaningful new memories attached to them.

Meanwhile, Diane, who is the most considerate and organized person I know, helped me plan my kitchen and pantry, enabling me to find more logical homes for some of my dishes and food. She created a to-do list for Steve of things that needed to be done around my house, and he did them. I discovered that Steve had brought his tools all the way from Michigan to tackle projects around my house. They also brought their English mastiff, Remy, who is 140 pounds of love and laziness and has added so much to our week. We’re all dog people, and it has been a joy to have the family dogs be part of our vacation.

I have a tradition of writing one of my columns each year during the week we spend together. In years past, I’ve written about healing together, or how much Green Lake means to us. I’ve written each column outside on the deck in their quiet company, and this year is no different.

What I’ve learned this year is that presence matters. It can be family, friends, or neighbors. No matter the relationship, physical presence can provide the most contentment, joy, and comfort in both wonderful times and more challenging ones. In our case, while we love Green Lake and hope to go back, I understand now that the place we are together and the activities we are doing don’t really matter as long as we’re in each other’s company. As it was with Jeff, sitting outside with coffee and quietly reflecting together is the good stuff, and by doing so, we honor him as we build upon the family that he helped us create.

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