Loss brings a river of regret, yet life goes on...

The other day, a friend asked me "What has it been like not having the cottage in the background of your mind in this first winter without it?" 

I sat with the question, pondering, reflecting, considering. I was glad to have been asked as it caused me to think deeply on this matter, and now I wonder how universal my response is to a wrenching decision that was, I know, also the right decision. 

Here's what I wrote in response to my friend's question: 

The cottage is in the back of my mind, always. I think of it with longing and love, and also with relief and regret. All the time, all those feelings. Two opposite things can be equally true. I love that place — Clifftop Cottage, on the cliff overlooking Lake Winnipeg. I regret that we no longer own the cottage, but the deeper river of regret that runs through the memories and the longing is that Val and I are no longer young, we are no longer those two young wilderness women able and wanting to take on everything it means to be cottage owners. We simply don’t have it anymore — not together, and not individually. I am glad to no longer be worrying about the trees that should come down, the water system in the winter cold, the algae in the lake, the human noise that shatters the natural peace of the place, etc. And I am already missing not having the gazebo to sit in, where my mother sat for so many happy hours in the summer warmth. It’s a mixed bag not owning the cottage. And I’m ok with that. Mostly. Most days, I’m ok with that.

Here's what I am learning: 

Our head and our heart are at times in happy unison, while at others they are off key one from the other, yet still working together in the same body, still fuelling the same life. That is how it goes, probably always and maybe especially when a decision has been wrenching while also being right...

My late mother, Anne, in the gazebo that overlooks Lake Winnipeg:
a gorgeous spot from which to watch the sky and listen to the waves...