Woman at window at morning


It’s an early spring Sunday. I sit alone in my beautiful living room with nothing to do but this. And, okay, to look up occasionally and, through the many panoramic windows, watch the morning sun splash white light on gently trembling tree leaves. Lovely.

“I hope you are enjoying this beautiful day, dear Suzanne,” texts my friend Premdo. I’d like to be, dear Premdo, I really would, and your constant joy inspires me. But joy is not what I feel.

I am alone a lot and not usually lonely. But today I feel lonely . . . and scared. I’m missing my husband, my “rock” as he used to call himself, more than ever on a glorious empty Sunday like this. And I am wondering what will become of me. What the fuck will become of me?

It’s not that I don’t have friends in my new community and family nearby. But the family is busy today, and I hesitate to make plans with others, since everyone has to come to me for it to work. I can’t drive or find stamina to go anywhere but to critical appointments. And my driveway is a bitch to navigate.

More challenging, I am so utterly exhausted I can’t be sure I’ll be up for a visit, even here, when the time comes.

So I am lonely. And yes, I am scared. I look fairly normal except for being way too thin. No wonder it’s really, really hard for others to understand my condition. It’s hard for me. That makes me feel even more lonely and scared.

I am scared first and foremost because I’m not sure who I am anymore. Without my rock of 50 years, our precious farm sanctuary, blissful Nova Scotia summers, and, not least, the sense of purpose that came from being a yoga teacher and mentor, a trusted life coach, an author, and a strong, self-sufficient woman, who the hell am I? Who?

I, who now need people to cook my meals, shop for me and help me pull up my pants, was not so long ago defined and nurtured by people who needed *me*, long-familiar places and myriad meaningful activities. Not to mention Trond’s rare sustaining unconditional love. Those were the days my friend, and as I recently wrote, who knew…it was so totally ephemeral.

It all fell apart so fast. Our quick move across the country, Trond’s swift mind-blowing dementia, his chosen but horrific-to-oversee death-by-starvation, and my precipitous slide into a mysterious chronic fatigue. Broken heart syndrome? (No one can figure out what else may be wrong.)

No wonder I’m floundering to understand what is left of me after such radical devastation. Struggling to know whether the scant remains of my once soul-satisfying life are worth preserving. Well, let’s see.

I am still here, in this beautiful place with enough resources to manage. And there are people near and far who love me. Some still look to me for counsel, as I sometimes look to them. And the dear souls who help me on many fronts—including a dozen well-intentioned, if somewhat clueless doctors—are likely as competent and caring a team as one could hope for.

But most of all, dear people, I am hugely grateful I can still write, able to express the matters of my clear mind and dear heart. And I am even more grateful you are here to read me and receive whatever I have left to give. Really, thank you so much for that!

But is that enough to keep me going? Enough to feel I have a life worth living? Not yet, my kind friends, not yet. I’m not ready to bow out either. I’m still in the game to serve for as long as possible. Where there’s a will . . .

So may “God” bless me, and God bless us all, on this wild, unpredictable ride from bloody birth to our certain death. And as we ride, can we do even better at holding each other tight?

May we please, please, trust each other enough to love more freely? I know I need your love, and I’m pretty sure you need mine. What on Earth else is there to do but love ourselves and each other to death? Nada.

With all the love and support I can muster, I sign off for now. Suzanne

About the Author: Suzanne Grenager

A seasoned writer and mentor with a gift for helping people see and be their most authentic, empowered Self.


  1. Carolyn Lazar March 30, 2023 at 12:23 am - Reply

    Heartbreaking Suzanne. Please don’t ever give up. Hugs and love.

    • Suzanne Grenager March 30, 2023 at 12:28 pm - Reply

      Thank you, dear Carolyn. Your love and support mean a lot to me!

  2. Carolyn Lazar March 30, 2023 at 12:24 am - Reply

    Heartbreaking Suzanne. Please don’t ever give up.

  3. Jean (Blodgett) Smith March 30, 2023 at 8:29 am - Reply

    Dear Suzanne,
    As long as you have breath, you have purpose. If not just to love and serve but, to be loved and be served. I don’t know if you remember me. I cleaned for you in the mid 1990’s at your lovely farm. Jean Blodgett was my name at the time.
    I had to work out these ideas of purpose years ago as my elderly, 95 year old grandmother with demetial languished in a nursing home until she was 99. I believe God prepares good works for us to do and she had become someone elses “GOOD WORK”. Rest in being someone elses’ goo work.
    In all the years that have passed, you have never been far from my thoughts. I cherrish the time that our lives touched. I will be watching your posts to be sure.
    Love, Jean (former house cleaner)

    • Suzanne Grenager March 30, 2023 at 12:31 pm - Reply

      Wow! How lovely to hear from you. And thank you so much for your kind reflections. I dearly hope all is well in your world all these decades later! ♥️

  4. Jody Myers March 31, 2023 at 1:34 pm - Reply

    Hi Suzanne

    from an old friend/aquaintence in Nova Scotia, Jody Myers. I relate well to your article above, and understand how such dramatic changes to your life have virtually wiped out your old identity. Chronic fatigue is definitely no fun and you are missing the joys you once knew in your past and loved. I hope you are feeling a little better when you read this then you were the day you wrote your little newsletter. As one yogi to another, we know it is so important to go way in, way way in, and rest in the Inner Being, our true self, that doesn’t identify with anything but it’s own light in the present moment. When I get caught in the past, my go to way of coming back to the present is the I AM YOGA NIDRA. I especially like the one by Liam Gillan. I’ve probably done it 100 times. I do it in the middle of the night even, when I can’t sleep. Nothing can replace the changes you have gone thru, but when we are rested, it’s easier to handle life. Wishing you rest and energy healing and some brighter days ahead. Take care. Jai Bapuji. Jody

    • Suzanne Grenager April 1, 2023 at 10:18 am - Reply

      Thank you so much for reading my post and being in touch, dear Jody. And I also very much appreciate your kind and thoughtful message. I send my love to you, my dear sister Yogini!

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