How Much Nostalgia Is Too Much? – A Man’s Journey Out of Grief Continued, #21
A couple of weeks ago, I finally began feeling better after a bout of the flu or something. Time to get out, ramble through the country. I drove from Port Hope east toward our previous home on Little Lake Road in Colborne. As I drove slowly past, memories flooded my mind. We had enjoyed our time there. Mary Helen loved the flowers we planted, the trilliums that bloomed in the spring, the woods and stream at the back, the fort and zip line John helped me build and especially the family gatherings. Thanksgiving. Christmas, Birthdays.
Tears blurred my vision so I speeded up and drove on to Brighton hoping there would be some migrating ducks that I could photograph. No migrating ducks were apparent so I visited the various spots we knew. Where we had walked. Where we had shopped. The restaurant we enjoyed. Then I headed home for supper.
All the way home I could hardly still the tears. Why? I don’t know, unless it was just missing her. Or the powerful sense that I was facing a lonely future. Nothing could change that. The passenger seat was empty. At least, being alone in the car I could give vent to my anguish. Which is why I love the condo and my solitary drives. No one should have to witness my grief. I don’t think anyone can understand this need for solitude to grieve.
As I drove, I began to ponder the place of nostalgia—of memories—of looking back instead of into the future. For I have a future, although it is unknown to me. Perhaps visiting the haunts of the past is unhealthy. Perhaps, too much writing about our past life is pulling me back into grief. I don’t think so. I am a writer. And writing is what gives me purpose. But…
During the last seven months I’ve gone on several road trips. One along the shores of Lake Erie and Lake Huron. Another following Ontario’s Grand River from its source south to Kitchener. And just this week I took a trip to the Ottawa Valley. I’d always been curious about these areas. The leisurely rambles were enjoyable. And ever since I returned home, images from those trips flash into my mind from time to time. I think that is healthy and healing. I need to continue to plan excursions, generate new experiences. I need to be part of a book club and join the men in the Bible study time. I need people in my life.
Especially important, I need to focus on my family. They all have exciting lives ahead. I need to pray for them. I need to be as interested as possible about their lives without being nosey. And I need to continue to pray for the churches where we served and for Pakistan in its time of immense need.
There are things to do. What I need is a balance. Too much nostalgia may slow my climb out of this valley of grief. But the right balance may bring healing and perspective. After all, I have a wonderful past–with Mary Helen–I can’t deny that. It is an essential part of who I have become and who I will continue to be. Finding the balance is the challenge. I’m searching.
