Treasured Things

A Liittle Beach for the Soul

🕊️ Editor’s Note (July 2025)

It has been six years since my husband Ron passed, and as the anniversary approaches, I find myself returning to this post. I haven’t gotten over the grief—but I am learning how to walk with it. I carry the memories with me now, not as weight, but as quiet companions on this widowed road. If you’re navigating your own season of loss or remembrance, I hope these words remind you that you don’t have to leave love behind in order to move forward. You can bring it with you.

“But Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” — Luke 2:19

A Little Beach for the Soul

I decide on coral and teal. If I can’t go to my happy place at the beach this year, I tell myself, then I’ll bring the beach to me—soft colors to soothe my soul every time I take a shower. So I order a new curtain and window shade. While I wait, I gather other calming touches: peach and white flowers for my grandmother’s pitcher, a jar of seashells from Bermuda, a pink candle tucked away in the cabinet.

Amazon delivers on Thursday. On Friday, I head upstairs with a trash bag and cleaning spray, ready to create a small oasis of peace.

“Some healing happens in moments so ordinary, we almost miss them.”

A Surprise in the Drawer

As I sort through clutter, I toss out empty bottles, old brushes, a hardened jar of Vaseline. Then I reach into the back of the drawer and pull out a can.

A can of Barbasol shaving cream.

I stop. I sit down on the teal rug. And I cry.

This was Ron’s. The only kind he ever used. The one our kids slipped into his Christmas stocking every year. The one paired with Old Spice on Father’s Day. It still smells faintly of him—clean, familiar, loved.

Suddenly the memories pour in: Ron shaving on our honeymoon, his new wife watching with fascination. Ron forgetting his shaving cream in Jamaica and overpaying for a tiny can in the resort gift shop. Ron in his wheelchair, guiding my trembling hand as I lathered his face. Ron in his hospital bed, his beard trimmed by a gentle nurse.

“You don’t move on from someone you love. You carry them forward.”

Holding What Matters

Psychologists tell us memory helps us relive moments. I believe God gave us memory not just to look back, but to carry forward what matters most—not just big events, but small sacred details that make up a life.

I think of Mary, pondering quiet moments of Jesus’ boyhood, treasuring them for the harder days to come.

Now, a year and a half after I said goodbye to Ron—not forever, just for now—I’m still learning to walk the widowed road. Some days are strong. Some days are soft and sorrowful. I let myself cry over a can of shaving cream and smile at a seashell curtain hook. I don’t pack the memories away. I bring them with me.

Still Here, Still Loved

It was a long journey together. A hard one. But we found treasures in the struggle: a peaceful hospital meal, a day without bad news, a bedtime cup of tea. Through it all, God was faithful.

He still is.

Ron’s path led him to heaven. Mine continues here, one step at a time.

I haven’t “moved on.” But I am moving forward—with Ron stitched into every step. With coral curtains, beachy colors, and a memory-filled drawer that reminds me: love never really leaves.

“Even the smallest memories can steady your soul.”

For You, Dear Reader

If you’re also carrying love and loss, I offer this gentle question for your heart:

💭 What memory do you carry with you—not to hold you back, but to bring comfort as you move forward?

How might you treasure it, ponder it, or share it today?

Feel free to reflect in your journal, whisper it to God, or share in the comments. I’d be honored to hear from you.