It was a balmy, golden summer evening in Parksville, and the sun was beginning its slow descent beyond the horizon. The sky was painted with awe-inspiring hues of cotton candy pink and robin’s egg blue, casting a soft glow over the sandy shoreline. The setting sun turned the world into a living watercolour, captivating anyone who paused to admire its beauty. As Brad and I strolled along the paved promenade, his hand clasped gently around mine, a sense of peace enveloped us. After a grueling year filled with challenges and stress, the promise of a full week of rest and relaxation stretched out before us like an open road.

My recent triumph of completing my teaching certification, and our decision to move in together into a beautiful rental townhome in Langley had brought us to this moment of serenity. We were finally able to breathe easy and revel in the new chapter of our lives. Amidst the tranquility of the evening, my gaze fell upon a young family enjoying the beach. The parents, with sun-kissed skin and sandy toes, exuded a sense of joyful exhaustion as they managed a cooler and an oversized beach bag.

Their daughters, likely just a couple of years apart, were completely engrossed in their beachside adventure, flipping rocks and discovering tiny crabs hidden beneath. Their laughter and delight were infectious, reminding me of the simple, joyful pleasures of family life. Brad and I, accompanied by my two teenage daughters were here on our very first holiday together. It was a momentous occasion for us, marking not only the start of our blended family journey, but also the beginning of many new traditions. The idyllic setting of Parksville seemed like the perfect backdrop for this new chapter. 

Yet, as I walked along that golden shoreline, I found myself caught in moments of quiet introspection. The laughter of that young family, the innocent joy of their children—these were echoes of a time that felt so distant now. I couldn’t help but feel a stabbing pang of familiar sadness. The image of that family was a stark reminder of the life I once envisioned with my ex-husband, a life filled with shared dreams. I always thought we’d grow old and grey together. Perhaps we’d have even brought our grandchildren to the same beach that served as a backdrop for so many cherished memories.

It’s an odd feeling, this blend of happiness and melancholy. On social media, it’s easy to paint a perfect picture of a blissful life. Friends and family see the highlight reels, the picturesque moments, and the smiles that never seem to falter. They comment on how radiant I look, how happy I seem, how handsome Brad is. While their intentions are kind and their observations true, they often miss the undercurrent of all-consuming heartache that occasionally surfaces, striking me without warning.

I have found immense joy and support in my relationship with Brad. He is eight years older than myself, but has become my best friend, confidant, and partner. His ability to see me at my most vulnerable, to hold me while I continue to sob over the end of my marriage, and to never let his ego interfere with my healing process speaks volumes about his character. We share similar values and dreams, something I realize now is as essential as chemistry, though it wasn’t something I considered deeply in my early 20s. We also have the same mental health struggles and neurodivergent brains, have battled addiction, and lost our fathers way too young. Coincidentally, they even have the same death date. What are the chances?

In retrospect, my marriage was filled with intense, immediate chemistry and excitement. We were engaged within four months, driven by the thrill of young love. Having only been 21 when we met, we spent half our lives together and shared so many milestones, wins and losses. He was my biggest cheerleader and my best friend. But as time passed, our little family expanded and life became more complicated.

It didn’t happen overnight. Slowly, we grew apart rather than together.

We inhabited separate spaces, led separate lives, and our internal struggles became walls that separated us further. By the end, we were strangers living under the same roof, unable to bridge the gap that had grown between us.

Now, here I am at 42, trying to figure out who I am without him. I am no longer that reckless, fiery party girl that picked him up at a dive bar over a shot of tequila as I was headed out of town for journalism school. Getting sober forced me to take a long hard look at what I need to be happy, and the loneliness of coexisting separately in the same space became too unbearable.

So, as my bottom lip began to quiver and tears streamed down under my sun glasses on the beach, I couldn’t escape the wistfulness for those earlier days. It’s a reminder that while I am building new memories and embracing a new chapter, there are still echoes of the past that linger. The young families I see, the idyllic scenes of family life, they serve as gentle nudges of what once was and what might have been. The guilt of putting my happiness before my girls haunts me daily, but I know they get it. I grew up without any healthy relationships to model, and I don’t want the same for them. They too are mourning the death of our family.

But amidst the sadness, there is also a profound sense of gratitude. I am grateful for Brad’s unwavering support, for the laughter and joy we share, and for the new beginnings we are carving out together. This trip to Parksville, with its sunlit beaches and family adventures, is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the capacity to find happiness even after profound loss.

As we continue to navigate this new chapter, I carry with me the lessons from the past and the hope for a future filled with love, connection, and understanding. The sunsets and family moments will always remind me of where I’ve been, but they also illuminate the path forward, a path I am learning to walk with both joy and a touch of bittersweet remembrance.