Over Water, Under Sky: Traveling With My Grief
“Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”
— James Baldwin
For the first time in a long time, I’m writing about something other than the state of the world. Believe me, I still carry the frustration and heartbreak of watching morally bankrupt people sit comfortably in positions of power. But for now, I’ve stepped away from the swamp.
I’m in Belize. Sitting in a cabana over the ocean. The wind is soft. The water is steady. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I am still.
Since Daniel died, I’ve taken to traveling solo—whether for work or for myself. We used to travel together every year around his birthday. It became our tradition, a final pause before we dove headfirst into preparing for the Worcester Caribbean American Carnival. Last year, I went to Cancun. A hurricane rolled in on his birthday, and I stood on the 20th floor balcony, watching the chaos unfold from the sky to the sea.
This year, it’s quieter. Belize is peaceful. I can engage when I want to, and disappear when I don’t. But the universe always has a way of nudging me into conversation.
Last night at dinner, I realized I was on a honeymooners’ resort. Four couples: three young and shiny, married on the same day—June 28—and one older couple, three weeks into their new marriage. Both widows.
As life tends to do, it was the older couple I ended up sitting next to.
We started talking. Eventually, I shared that I, too, am widowed.
The young couples were busy sharing their newlywed dreams, when the older husband chimed in with the classic line, “Happy wife, happy life.”
I smiled and said what Daniel used to tell me: Happy spouse, happy house.
Because it goes both ways.
Daniel and I believed that. Love is a choice, one you make every day. Even when you’re frustrated, angry, tired, or overwhelmed. Even when life is coming at you hard and fast. You choose your person.
That doesn’t mean you like them every single day. But you commit to showing up.
And more than anything, relationships need intimacy. Not just the physical kind. Emotional. Intellectual. Spiritual. Inferential. Physical. All of it matters. And when one of those is missing, the foundation cracks.
Of course, none of it works without trust and respect. You cannot build intimacy without feeling safe. Without knowing the other person will catch you when you fall—or at least, fall with you.
This journey I’m on now forces me to examine all my relationships. How do they serve me? How do I serve within them? Where is the reciprocity, the trust, the care?
As I approach two years without Daniel, I’m learning to see myself again. Just Jennifer. Not Jennifer and Daniel.
The void he left in my life is immeasurable. Earth-shattering. It’s reshaped everything: how I wake up, how I love, how I imagine the future.
At dinner, the new wife asked me if I’d ever consider marrying again.
And the truth is—I can’t see it.
I can see companionship. Friendship. Shared laughter. Someone to watch the sky with.
But to give my whole self at that level again, knowing the risk of losing it all… I just don’t know if I have that kind of surrender left in me.
So for now, I’ll keep honoring our tradition. I’ll keep celebrating Daniel’s life. And I’ll keep building my own.
Still Jennifer.
Just Jennifer.
But maybe, that’s enough.
And maybe, when the ache gets too loud and the quiet feels too sharp, the universe will meet me here—reminding me I’m still breathing, still healing, still whole, even in pieces.
A Prayer to the Universe:
Send me peace when the noise of the world tries to drown me.
Send me calm when my heart feels restless.
Send me clarity when the road ahead feels blurry.
Surround me only with the people who pour truth, grace, and light into my life.
Bring me experiences that stretch me, but do not break me.
And grant me the power to walk this path fully—
as myself, for myself, with love and purpose.
“The practice of love offers no place of safety. We risk loss, hurt, pain. We risk being acted upon by forces outside our control.”
— bell hooks, All About Love
With love from Belize,
Jennifer