I sit this morning in the screen porch overlooking a walking trail that seems to wind into mystery itself. I love this path as a metaphor for the “not knowing”. I remember the first time I walked it when I looked at this house prior to buying it. It was an utter mystery where this path would lead. What would happen when I followed it out of sight? What was next? I had no idea.
We never know what's just around the corner in life, either.
I take a deep breath and write to you about the grief I am experiencing as we look ahead to the closing date of the home we purchased nearly three years ago in northern Minnesota.
There are lots of terms that are appropriate for the grief that I'm feeling about selling this home - it could be called a living loss (a loss that is not a physical death), a secondary loss (a loss that is a result of a death that is a primary loss), a nonfinite loss (a loss that is part of everyday life and, as such, goes on over time), and finally disenfranchised grief and loss (loss that isn't necessarily honored by society so can be hidden and not talked about).
All of the above describe this loss that I am talking about - the loss of the life that we wanted, expected, and dreamed about.
When I think back to the time that we purchased that up-north property, it seems like another life altogether. In the previous year, Dan and I had moved to a small town and into an apartment after COVID interrupted our lives - we were craving everything small and simple after working in the heart of St. Paul, Minnesota.
I had been trying for years to keep my parents afloat in North Dakota by driving nearly seven hours one way to help them with their house, their horses, their medications .. and I was truly burning out.
My husband Dan and I decided to find a home in the country and embark on a journey of intergenerational living - our son and his then finance, my parents, and us. We needed enough room for six people and many, many animals - three households worth of cats equaled eight, and as these things go another little kitten found her way to us which meant nine. We knew eventually my parents’ two horses Ruby and Porcelana would be joining us.
In the fall of 2021, a 25-acre wooded property along the Crow Wing river and a 5,700 square-foot home came on the market. Jackpot!!It was perfect. We bought it on a wing and a prayer and started dreaming.

Home on Wilderness Drive
We would convert the cottage into a perfect little Airbnb that I could run, the upper level of the house would be a perfect gathering spot, the large machine shed would be the education center for classes, and the space by the river would accommodate wall tents and kayaks for campers to enjoy on the Crow Wing River. Check out the website that I created for it called True Nature Community. This was real.
*forgive the website .. for reasons that will become obvious, I never finished it.
The possibilities were endless, and the best part? My mom and dad could be a part of it all. There was enough room for them to have their own floor in the house with bedrooms and a little kitchenette. Again, it was perfect.
Because mom had been experiencing a lot of health issues (longer story for another writing), we convinced dad that she needed to be closer to better medical care and he gladly obliged - his short-term memory had been gone for a decade by that time, but he would have done anything for her.
After the holidays of 2021, they arrived and immediately fell in love with both the home and the property. The Norwegian pine and aspen trees, the wildlife that frequented the trails, the bald eagles who graced us with their presence, and even the neighbor's cattle provided the comfort that both of them seemed to be desperate for.
However, it was clear that something was very wrong with mom. We missed some of the signs until they were with us full time. The heartbreaking reality was that she was beginning to not recognize me as her daughter and was experiencing things that were not real. She began to fall - a lot - and injured herself several times. She was on a downward spiral that we couldn’t keep up with.
Slowly and surely, our dreams for the future were replaced with the reality that we were losing her. My sister, Julie, began making trips from her home in North Carolina to help, and our days were filled with desperate trips to the neurologist and emergency rooms, new medications that were not helping, and the realization that there seemed to be nothing that could be done to stop or even slow the progression of the disease. Mom was finally diagnosed with Lewi-body Dementia - something that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy both for the person experiencing it and for the family.
But this home - this beautiful, magical spot in the woods - held it all. The giant log-sided structure accommodated not only the practical, physical needs of so many people but the enormous amount of emotional upheaval that took place as we all struggled to simply keep up with the reality that was the emerging end of mom’s life.
Because of a string of events that led to her rapid decline and a lot of unanswered prayers, Mom died on September 6, 2022 and Dad followed her just four weeks later. Our family was left in a state of shock, exhaustion - and relief. There is a lot to be said about my dad’s departure from this life, but I will save that for another day.
In the months that followed, we processed the events that took place in a way that we couldn't appreciate in the moment. The gratitude for the time we all got to spend with them at the tail end of their lives, the dark humor associated with mom’s "spunk" directed to us through her lapses in reality, the sweetness of dad’s affection that he was finally free to show his wife in their final days together.
NONE of this was planned. This wasn’t supposed to happen!
What happened to the Airbnb dreams? How about the wellness retreats? The classes, the chickens, the canning parties? What about bringing the little community together to forage the abundance of wild raspberries, strawberries, hazelnuts, white sage, yarrow, and wild roses that decorated the forest floor? We had plans!
NONE of that was meant for us. What was meant for us was a season of loss.
That sure doesn’t sound as great as the season that we planned for, but I would not have traded it for anything in the world. We didn’t know it when we purchased this property, but we were in the midst of a major life transition.
The losses continued to flow into our lives. In the months after mom and dad died, their horse Porcelana died, their other horse Ruby found a loving home, three of our beloved cats died (Max, Charlie, and Sabrina), we found homes for the chickens that had become a huge part of our family having been raised from chicks in our spare unfinished bathroom, and Brett found a job that he loves in Grand Marais, MN after his relationship ended.
I often placed my hand on my heart and whispered, “this belongs” in a desperate attempt to accept what was in front of me.
Dan and I were left with 25 acres, a giant house, and an unshakable reality that everything that we had planned for was gone. This living loss needs to be grieved.
It has now been nearly two cycles through the seasons. I have grieved everyone and everything that has been loved and lost and have grappled with the reality that the life I had envisioned with my parents was never meant to be.
I set my sights on a new season that is now upon me. As of July 10th, the healing property that extended her arms to our entire family will belong to someone new, and we will begin again. I am still grieving the vision that I had for it, but as the seasons cycle through the pain is less severe and I find myself more expansive, creative, and open to new possibilities.
I glance one more time at the magical path out the door of our new home and smile at the thought that although this wasn’t in “the plan”, I have happiness in my heart and zero regrets. I couldn’t have imagined the enormous amount of living and dying and beauty and sorrow that this season of loss has provided me.
If you are in the midst of nonfinite or living losses, I am sending you prayers of surrender, allowing, and acceptance. We can make all of the plans that we want and chase after our dreams (and that's a good thing!). But we also must recognize when life itself has plans for us, and when we allow them to unfold, we open ourselves to the beauty that is hidden in the unraveling.
Surrender to what is by placing your hand over your heart and whispering, “this belongs”.
All my Love,
Andrea
PS a few photos of those we lost in our short time on Wilderness Drive. Oh how I miss them!

Sandra (mom) 1942 - 2022

Bruce (dad) 1937 - 2022

Max (2006 - 2023)

Sabrina (unknown - 2022)

Charlie (2006 - 2023)

Porcelana (1996 - 2023) & Miss Ruby Girl
Can't forget the lil' chickens. They were a constant source of entertainment when we needed it most!
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