I confess. It felt good toiling in the yard once again. Last year’s Morning Glory vines are raked and cleared. The ramshackle sticks and wire I used to support them are gone. Later, I’ll try to build a more robust structure. The garage is clean. The dead leaves and grass blown in by the neighboring winds are on the move again after spending days trapped in various corners. I even cleared away the grass caught on the deck of the zero-turn mower.

Now that I’ve broken loose from the inertia that kept me tied to a chair and sitting inside, I’m ready to roll. I have more tasks lined up for today. Of course, the days when I’d work from dusk to dawn are gone. It’s more likely I’ll invest several hours and be happy. But that’s good. I still have chores to do inside, meals to cook, and peace to find. And the latter usually comes in quiet moments watching the clouds go by or a breeze ruffle the grass in the pasture.

My driver in all this work is simple. I imagine how my late wife would have wanted things to look, then fix them. That’s pretty easy actually. When she was healthy, she was in the yard with me and often without me. Many a time, I’d come how from my work in Houston to find deadwood cleared and things trimmed. We made a nice team. Now, it’s just me. And she’s a picture on my wall and a memory in my mind. But I know what to do, and I’ll do it. And as I do, I’ll think of her.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale