I spent a lot less time outside this winter. Without my winter-loving Mongolian snow beast, there was no reason to suit up (or boot up) and play in the snow. Though we didn’t get much snow this year, and a tiny arrogant part of me thinks it’s because the universe shrugged and said, “What’s the point now?” As I’ve worked through the grief of losing my furry co-pilot, I got used to the idea of only needing to go outside at my whim, and no one else’s.

But, as winter gave way to spring, I thought about going out for a walk in the neighborhood many times. Then immediately decided against it. The thought of it made my stomach do flip-flops. Kallie and I traversed this neighborhood in every imaginable permutation. And I thought it would be too hard–too soon, maybe–to do it on my own.

We had some unseasonably warm days, though, and the call of the outdoors became too strong to ignore. I was conflicted, but I had a workaround! I pulled my bike out of winter storage mothballs and set out in the early dawns of several mornings. I feel like I’m nine when I ride my bike, remembering the freedom that came from self-generated propulsion and momentum and the excitement of going to meet my best friend Carol down the street.

But there are days when a walk is preferred for listening to a book or just enjoying nature at a slower pace. So, I had to figure that out. I love my house, my yard, my neighborhood. It sort of reminded me of when I returned to work after Ken died, and as I neared my car in the parking garage, I burst into uncontrollable tears because going “home” from work meant something completely different than it used to. And grief wouldn’t let me forget it. But, like then, I refused to let “home” be taken from me, so would have to pull up my big boy pants and make a plan.

Firsts are so hard. It’s something I can’t believe I ever forget…over and over. Hard lessons can sometimes be the easiest to forget. Maybe because they hurt, and it’s a kind of pain we’re eager to lose track of. But a great counterpunch to this kind of pain for me is community. I shared how I was feeling with multiple friends, who all offered support and sweet suggestions to help make it easier. And then, one day, it was the right day. As suggested by my friends, I put in my earbuds and listened to a book while I strolled the down the streets while my sappy brain echoed, “This Used to Be My Playground.”

It wasn’t as hard as I’d built it up to be. Is it ever? Part of me enjoyed being back out on the sidewalks that I walked hundreds of times with Kallie. The fact is, there isn’t a piece of grass nor sidewalk nor driveway that Kallie didn’t stop, drop and squirm on, whether it was wet grass, dry snow or warm concrete. Girlfriend loved to squirm. And as time goes on, it will get easier. This I do recall from experience.

And, I try to remind myself–like anyone we have loved and lost–it’s not that they are gone, it’s that they were here.