Every day I took a left from Allen Avenue in Altadena onto Braeburn Road. I drove two blocks and took a right turn into the driveway. Through the front dining room window I often caught a glimpse of my family. My dog barked happily as I approached the door.

Nothing monumental happened on any of these days, but coming home always felt comfortable. My husband died in that house, and my three children flourished in that house. I made the same trips repeatedly over a period of 49 years. As I aged the house remained the same, a refuge, a solace for my soul.

Now, I am standing on a long driveway leading to nowhere. There is no refuge; there is no comfort. No tears are visible to those nearby. The tears are inner tears. They are clamoring for that daily sameness, for my usual direction to home.

It is clear that I face a new direction, one that is strange and unfamiliar. I suppose that age contributes to these emotions. It may be hard to forge a new direction when my soul still clings to the old, the familiar, the loss.

Hopefully, time can help to mitigate loss. Maybe time will ease the tears and pain, but it is clear that life is headed in a new direction. And I am struggling to take that first step.

Marea Marchant, Altadena