No, not the writing kind of chapter. A life-altering event kind of chapter.

The kind of chapter that happens when you lose a spouse and become a member of The Worst Club Ever.

When you lose a significant other, you can respond in one of several ways:

1. You become inert. This can last a long time, rendering you unable to do more than pay the bills, work if you have to, and get the plumbing fixed if the house floods. Everything becomes rote, nothing moves an iota in your home. You are living in a museum and basically wasting away. Your family worries about you and tries to get you out of the house..
2. You wait the prescribed year before doing much of anything. You are functioning somewhat better than No. 1, but you make no major decisions, you don’t make any major purchases, and you make few major changes, if any, to your lifestyle. Your family worries about you but tries to be patient.
3. You rebuild your life, starting the day after the funeral. You make immediate changes, massive decisions, and tectonic shifts in the bedrock of your life. This often happens if your spouse has been ill for a long time or if the relationship was troubled (read that as abusive, alcoholic, controlling, addicted, or a thousand other things.) Your family worries about you: that you aren’t grieving enough, that you’re going to spend your savings away, or that you’ve lost your ever-loving mind. Sometimes, this might be true.

Maybe you recognize yourself in one of these profiles, or maybe you see a little bit of yourself in more than one. No two people grieve exactly alike, and everyone’s process is NORMAL FOR THEM!

I fell into No. 3 hook, line, and trip to Ireland. Scott had been ill for a while, had recently become nearly immobile, and then had knee surgery, which led to contracting the flu (the other one.) He died in our driveway as I tried to get him to the ER. Sorry if you’ve heard it a hundred times.

My point is that the first thing I did after he was gone was (with Adam’s help) take a huge black trash bag and divest my house of anything that looked like a hospital, sickbed, or chronic illness lived there. People showed up to remove the wheelchair and knee-moving thingy that took up half our bed. The two walkers, shower chair, and hospital tray table went into the attic.

Then we rearranged the furniture. I hated the leather loveseat, which was cold and decidedly un-snuggly and slid me off onto the floor every night during TV time. I now have a “nest” on the full-sized beige cloth-covered sofa we had never sat on.

After that I chose two rules that I would live by:

1. I chose to be happy. I am a positive person. It doesn’t mean I am never sad, never cry, never worry, or never get angry. My family will tell you I do. I’m a crier, a sentimental gusher. I don’t apologize for that. But overall I love to laugh. I think nearly everything has some humor buried inside it. It helps me get through the day. Every day.
2. I chose to say YES to new adventures. I went to lunches, dinners, and the movies. I joined my high school reunion committee, I traveled to Ireland, England, Greece, and France. I’ve been to Wisconsin, Santa Fe, Oregon, and Georgia. I’ve driven all over Dallas alone. I often get lost. I have made incredible new friends, rediscovered old ones, and spent amazing hours with my children and siblings. I would never have done those things without embracing the adventure. And I’m eternally grateful to those who asked me to go along for the ride.

I have a dear friend who recently lost her husband of over 30 years. He had been very ill and housebound for about six years. His condition prevented them from having company in their home, so my friend invented clever ways to entertain family and friends elsewhere. She could not travel (a passion of theirs) and had rearranged her home to accommodate his few interests and growing immobility.

When he died, she took a breath and, in the months since, has reorganized her house to suit HER needs. She put her office downstairs where the dining room was, the dining room went to the living room, and she created a comfy den next to the kitchen to be her retreat. She also reclaimed the primary bedroom as her own, redecorating and styling it in a fresh, new, feminine way.

One thing she also did was sell a huge collection of CDs, DVDs, and LPs, which were his passion, not hers. This freed up lots of space for the art she collects and loves to display. The sale also brought in some revenue, which she used to buy herself a designer handbag as a birthday present.

All this doesn’t mean she isn’t grieving or missing him, because she is, but she’s not a No. 1 or a No. 2. She told me that this isn’t just a new chapter—this is a new book. And I am thrilled for her.

I did the same (not the handbag part), having a big electronics sale of all the media production equipment Scott and I had amassed. It filled the entire room where I now have the offending leather sofa and all the other furniture that used to be in our living room. It is the coziest of retreats for me as I continue to decorate it in the lodge look I love.

However you choose to write your next chapter, no matter what is prompting it: empty nest, death, divorce or just the need to turn a page in your story, I encourage you to take the leap. The water is amazing.