I have arrived at the end of a long journey. It began when my husband Bill passed away. Bill died at home, in his own room, and for that I am grateful. He was with me and his children. He was not with strangers. He did not die under a florescent light, but was beneath the window outside of which was the redbud tree I had planted for him, where the birds sang. But at the moment his spirit left his body, there came a void into the house that had not been there before. And although his spirit has always been with me, the life that resided in his body, the life that gave him a physical presence was absent from the house. Its energy was gone, and the house that was minus this energy was the house I was left to live in. It is so real, the loss of that energy.

I lived in the house for almost seven years, mindful every day of what was no longer there. I did all the things I did before, and more. I took care of things. I repaired what was broken. I managed the ground and its garden. But minding those things had lost its joy. I knew I had to go elsewhere in order to live again. Fully.

Those of you who have followed this blog with me know the long, painful story of the selling of the house. After three long years it has been done. The new buyers are lovely people. After settlement, we talked a little. The husband is an artist who was drawn to some of the work that hung on my walls. He went to the art college in Philadelphia that my brother and my daughter attended. He was taught by the same professor who taught them and who painted my portrait. He recognized his work when he saw it hanging, and said the house had an “aura” about it that he loved. They were the right people at the right time. He said his wife had been looking at the house for ten years. Imagine that. The right people at the right time and not a minute before.

And now I am in the place to which I have been called: Sedona, Arizona, a beautiful, sacred place. I could feel its call as I drove from the airport in Phoenix toward its holy red rocks, and I felt that from them I would draw a new strength. I am tired now and my back hurts. Moving is traumatic. Deep. I’m sure I strained every muscle in my back lifting a suitcase and a heavy cat carrier, many times. Between there and here my cat Dorian Gray and I slept in three different hotels – in Cambridge, in Baltimore near the airport, and in Sedona, waiting for the movers. But I’m healing. I am on the floor every night on my yoga mat, doing what I have been taught to help my back. And I am deeply, deeply happy.

The movers were marvelous; everything arrived intact. I am unpacking slowly, giving my back a chance to recover. But there is no deadline, no one to walk through my living space until I am ready.

And because nothing is simple, and no happiness is absolute, I think every day of the dear friends I left behind, the wonderful, generous people who loved me through one of the darkest times of my life. I think of my wonderful writers group, who gave me a luscious party, the dear people who walked me so patiently through my book, who gave so generously of their time and skill, who gave me the richness of laughter, a balm for my sorrow. I think of the one who came to say goodbye to me as her own husband lay dying of the same disease that took my husband. And there were the ones who gathered at the beautiful home of a dear friend, my hometown friends, who brought food and love, the same ones who supported me unselfishly, week after week, and whose presence and memories I shall always cherish, whose faith and wisdom will continue to give me strength. I will never forget the balloons in the tree outside my friend’s house, how the wind gently took one at a time, and how they floated up, up, up until they were part of the Universe.

No, no happiness is absolute, and nothing in life is simple. But I am convinced that there is a place for everyone that is filled with peace, with rightness, a place where, if we are quiet enough, we will know that the Universe has set us down gently where we belong.

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Read The Messenger: The Improbable Story of a Grieving Mother and a Spirit Guide by Helen Delaney. Find it at www.Amazon.com or at www.themessenger.space

Dear Readers:

There will be no blog this Sunday or next Sunday because I am moving to Sedona, AZ to follow my dream.  See you on July 24.

Dear Friends.  I am driving up the beautiful Pacific Coast. See you next week.

What I was looking for (a place to live) was in the last place I looked. Isn’t that the way? I spent a long, hard day in my car, driving to neighborhoods around Sedona, far and wide, looking at every rental on the web site. The agent had asked me to do this before she showed a property. I had only seen what was inside virtually. In photographs. I had fallen in love with nothing I’d seen so far.

The next day, I looked again at a few I had already driven by.  I was to meet the rental agent at noon for a look inside the only one I hadn’t visited at all.  It was in a subdivision (something in which I said I’d never live). But it was beautiful. A waterfall greeted me at the entrance. The grounds were immaculate. The minute I walked in, I knew this was the place. It was new, light, airy, and clean, with white walls, white tiles on the floor. A blank canvass. It was small – I’d have to manage – and it was pet friendly with a tiny open space out back for my cat Dorian Gray. There was only one problem. There was a couple there who had gotten there first. By the time I arrived, they had an application in hand. They scooted out to get to work. The agent advised me to get mine in right away.

I had to fill out the application and supplement it with documents I could only reach by Internet. The Internet was down where I was staying, so I raced to Starbucks (of course!) and started. One of my bank statements wouldn’t download. The application asked for a story of my life. (I’m renting and have to be credit approved.) I was nervous. But I remembered a message I had been getting recently:  RELAX.  I had had a reading with Rev. Brown the day before I left (always a comforting experience) and upon leaving, told him that I’d hoped that I’d be able to access my source (my Spirit Guide, Lukhamen) easier when I got into my second book. He gave me one word of advise: RELAX.  I heard it for two days when I got to Sedona – coming from seeming everybody I talked to. I even saw it on roadside signs.

I really wanted this place. It was the only place available that was nestled among the red rocks. I really didn’t want to live out in the desert. So, sitting there in Starbucks, hands shaking, I decided to listen to the Universe. I RELAXED. Somehow, I filled out the application without my handwriting looking like I was drunk, emailed all the documents to the agent, raced to the rental office (traffic didn’t help), and sat down at the rental agent’s desk, where I saw a copy of the driver’s licenses of the other couple. I was hot (there’s a heat wave here, as if we need one in Arizona), I was exhausted, and of course…afraid. If I didn’t have a place to live by the time I left on Tuesday, I wouldn’t have one. I didn’t want to think about staying in a motel with my cat while homeless in July. Think it’s hot NOW.

“Am I too late?” I said.  “No,’ she said, “The other couple didn’t have all their documents together yet.” Whew!  The guy at the other desk brought me a cold bottle of water. He must have seen that I was nearing…something or other. That’s when I heard the message again:  RELAX. The agent, named Sara, helped me complete my application ( I had missed some things in my haste.) She was about to close my file folder, saying “Well, the choice or renters is up to the owner,” when I thought of something. Maybe I had relaxed. “Sara, you know that I’m a client of yours from years back. I’ve rented a townhouse from you for a month at a time. I’m in your system, already credit-checked.” She looked, found me, and smiled. “Well, here you are,” she said.  She took my folder back to the owner of the rental agency. I could hear her telling her that I was a former client. Before I got up to leave, I said, “Sara, is there anything else I can do?” By this time, Sara and I were old friends. “Go back and talk to Tina, the owner,” she said. “That can’t hurt.”

Tina was a lovely lady with a lovely smile. We chatted. She was pleasant. I’ve found that to be true of everybody I’ve met here in Sedona. They seem, well, relaxed. As if everything is going to be all right. “Is there anything else I can do, Tina?” She said, well, owners really like people we know already, so that gives you an edge.” “Is there anything else?” I said. “Well, you can leave a check for the first month’s rent and the cleaning fee. We’ll hold it in escrow until you settle on your house. We’ll send you the lease to docu-sign by email.” “Done.” I said. I wrote the check and asked the last question. “Tina,” I said, “have I done everything I can do?” “Yes,” she said. “You’ve done everything you can do.” And then a funny thing happened. I relaxed. Really relaxed. “We’ll call you in a day or two,” she said with that dazzling smile. “I’m sure everything happens the way it is supposed to,” I said, on leaving. “Yes,” she said, “especially in Sedona.”

Knowing that I had done everything I could do, I talked to the Universe. “Well,” I said. “It’s up to you, now.” And I let go of everything.

Two days later, Tina called. “You’re going to be very happy,” she said. I squealed. The owners had chosen me, no doubt with help from Tina. I exhaled, and said, “Thank you, Tina.” I have a home to come to in July.

I will leave here on Tuesday, fly to Los Angeles to see my daughter Debbie and my granddaughter Celine. Debbie and I are going to drive up the California coast. I will have a free mind and a contented heart. And I get to practice a new skill:  RELAXING.