Grief in Places: Why One Home Haunts Me, and the Other Does Not
🏡 When the House No Longer Holds Them
"In desperate hope, I go and search for her in all the corners of my house... But infinite is thy mansion, my Lord, and seeking her I have come to thy door."
—Rabindranath Tagore
🕯️ My Mother's Presence Lingered
After my mother passed, her home felt like hers.
Every room whispered of her presence—
The kitchen still smelled of her cooking.
Her closet still held the scent of her perfume.
I thought cleaning out her closet would bring some relief. It didn’t. Her spirit clung to every inch of that house. I wasn’t just letting go of things—I was letting go of her space, her sanctuary.
📦 Letting Go of Mark’s Belongings
When Mark died, I handled it differently.
I began sorting through his things right away. Bryce helped.
Today, he brought Mark’s clothes to Goodwill.
It wasn’t easy.
But we both knew that clearing space might help us breathe again.
🤍 Why It Felt Different
I kept wondering:
Why was it harder to leave my mother’s house than to give away Mark’s things?
The answer came gently—
My mother had lived in her home.
She had filled it with herself.
Eleven years of stories, routines, holidays, ordinary days.
That home was built by our family.
It was layered with history, love, and legacy.
Walking away from it felt like walking away from her life.
🖼️ Mark Didn’t Have Time to Settle In
Mark and I had only lived in this house for one year.
We hung pictures.
We had dinners.
We shared a bed.
But the roots didn’t run deep.
He never got to fully settle here.
So when I look around, I don’t see a home built by him.
I see reminders, yes. But the home itself?
It doesn’t carry his fingerprint the way my mother’s house did.
🎨 Carrying Him With Us
When we move, we’ll bring Mark’s paintings.
His voice will still echo in our hearts.
His sense of humor will still show up in our conversations.
His love will still steady us when the world feels shaky.
Because he doesn’t live in this house—
He lives in us.
💫 A Home Beyond These Walls
Some homes hold memories.
Others hold love.
But the heart—
The heart carries both.
I may not feel Mark in every corner the way I felt my mother.
But I trust in the unseen.
In the greater home—the infinite mansion—that holds him now.
And in that trust, I rest.
💜 Dyan's Grief Support Resources
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