When I first became a widow, sleep felt like a stranger. The nights were long, heavy, and hollow. The silence screamed, and every creak in the house felt like grief walking through the hallway.
One night, out of desperation, I tried something I never imagined I’d do: grief meditation. A guided meditation prompt encouraged me to build a space—a meeting place—just for Scott and me. A place I could return to when the pain was too much and sleep felt impossible. Somewhere I could sit with him again.
The first step was imagining that space. I’d lie in bed, eyes closed, and begin to shape it in my mind. It wasn’t easy. It took me nearly a week to complete. Night after night, I returned to that same meditation, slowly giving life to every detail—what the sky looked like, the smell in the air, the texture beneath my feet. I’d whisper each piece aloud in the dark: “The walls are soft white stone… the air is warm… there’s a bench beneath the tree…”
By the fifth night, I had created a special gate around the space—one only Scott and I could pass through. The meditation guided me to walk to the gate, open it, sit, and wait.
Now I know this might sound strange. Far-fetched. Unrealistic. But I had no choice. The pain was so intense, so consuming, that I needed something. I needed to see him, hear his voice, feel his hand in mine—even if just in my mind.
I didn’t expect it to work. But I kept trying. I kept showing up to the gate, night after night, because not trying felt more unbearable.
And by the end of the fifth night… I was ready. I was scared—terrified even.
What if he didn’t come?
What if this dream space meant something only to me?
That final night before I tried to meet him, I lay awake with tears wetting my pillow. I whispered again, “Please meet me there.”
I’ll save the rest of the story for another time, because it’s deeply personal. But I will say this: I still return to that place.Especially on sleepless nights when the ache rises to the surface again. It’s where I go when I need to feel close, when my soul needs shelter.
This meditation became more than a coping tool—it became a sanctuary. A space to grieve, to remember, to love, and to rest.
If you’re navigating widowhood or deep grief, maybe this kind of meditative ritual isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. Maybe, just maybe, it can be the bridge between your pain and your healing.
🕯️ I’ll share more soon. Until then—rest gently.
Widow 101 