There’s no getting around the fact that each of us is in one of three places: 1) in the middle of adversity; 2) coming out of a hard thing; or 3) about to head back into trouble.
Pretty encouraging stuff right there.
Since no one is exempt from adversity, the question becomes: What differentiates between those who flourish in difficulty — no matter how steep the trail — and those who struggle?
I took an early retirement and moved away from Oregon when my husband, Gary, died. Because housing is expensive in this destination resort area. Because my monthly income was significantly reduced. Because Son Jeremy and DIL Denise offered free rent in southern California.
I’m back in central Oregon to take care of some pinched nerve pain only to discover that this place with its incredible people and so many fabulous memories feels like home.
Bend, Oregon – August 2014
Bend, Oregon – August 2015
Not every widow needs to move from the home she shared with her husband. But what happens to the one who does? For financial, location or health reasons? Here are a handful of options based on downsizing and simpler living.
1. Tiny houses. You’ve heard of the Tiny House movement, right? The normal size of a Tiny House is 200-400 square feet. When you’ve downsized enough that all your earthly possessions fit in a 10-foot cargo trailer—that would be me—then 200-400 square feet is very doable. (See more photos at end of blog; I may or may not have gotten a little carried away.)
tinyhouseswoon.com photo
About this time last year began the long, slow, sweet good-bye. We had reached the place of no more curative care options, no more clinical trials. Any treatment from this point on was for pain management and quality of life. Uber-optimist that I am — even I knew that Hubby was dying.
This quote from one of my favorite philosophers, Winnie the Pooh:
How lucky I am to have something that makes saying good-bye so hard.
There’s this really great quote that I posted to Facebook just before flying east to spend a week in Puerto Rico with family. This, by Eleanor Roosevelt:
Do one thing every day that scares you.
And so I signed up for stand-up paddle boarding lessons and traversed down a lazy green river in the beautiful interior of Puerto Rico.
After he was diagnosed with brain cancer, Gary Bonacker—co-owner of a popular bike shop in Bend, Oregon—founded a multi-distance cycling event. Tour des Chutes. Named after the Deschutes River that runs through the middle of town.
Dave Adams photo
The Tour des Chutes mission? To support cancer care and survivorship for children and adults in central Oregon.
I’m in paradise. In a Puerto Rican villa by the sea. Celebrating the twentieth wedding anniversary of Son Jeremy and DIL Denise. There are thirteen of us here — friends and family members — and making the decision to attend was part of my commitment to living well as a widow.
So what exactly does *living well* look like?
When Hubby was first diagnosed, we asked the physicians what we could do in addition to treatment. One urologist said, “I heard lycopene is good for prostate cancer, and tomatoes have lycopene, so you might want to eat more tomatoes.”
“Good,” said Hubby out of earshot of the doctor. “I’ll add more tomatoes to my Big Macs and I’ll be just fine.”
Photo credit: Unsplash
Operator of power tools by evenings and weekends; mad scientist by day. As the weeks passed—and as Steve Cosenza and his lovely wife, Debbie, continued dropping by to work on home and yard projects—I learned that Steve wasn’t just any ordinary mad scientist. He was a cancer researcher.
Getting outdoors was one of our favorite ways to manage the stress of Hubby’s cancer. In central Oregon, we laced up hiking boots and strapped on snowshoes. Here in southern California, it’s bike riding. Niece Heidi is visiting for the weekend, and one of the first things we did was hop on our bikes (not that Heidi is causing me any stress).
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
