Sunday Stillness: Walking With Signs
Walking with grief, love, and the signs that guide us forward.
I began this week’s Sunday Stillness as a Note, but it wanted more space to breathe — a dedication to a dear friend, on love, endings, and the signs that help us keep walking.
This weekend, my husband traveled to Northumberland to honor his best friend, Matt - who passed just two weeks ago from pancreatic cancer.
Their friendship spanned more than two decades. They hiked, travelled, partied, swapped gear recommendations, and shared the kind of bond that turns into chosen family. Matt was meticulous, full of curiosity and joy - the embodiment of living life to its fullest. Given three months, he stretched it to eighteen. Every day, every meal, every detail became a quiet act of defiance and devotion to life itself.
Over the years, their adventures carried them across continents and into the wild - climbing mountains, trekking through deserts, dancing late into the night, and exploring far-flung corners of the world together. Their friendship was stitched into the kind of journeys that required endurance, trust, and gear carefully chosen (often by Matt’s expert eye).
And yet, their final trip in January was something different. A gentler journey. They drove around the entire coast of Ireland, adapting each day to what Matt’s body could manage. Days were shaped not by distance or summit but by love: quiet conversations, coastal walks, shared laughter, the simple care of preparing food and medicine blended so he could still enjoy meals on the road - and even pausing so Matt could tick off a bucket-list wish: to enjoy a pint of Guinness in Ireland.
In preparing for this weekend, my husband packed his hiking gear. Almost all of it had a story attached to Matt - recommended by him, gifted by him, carried on countless journeys together. He also packed:
the amulet they once shared, inscribed with a prayer, worn whenever the ocean stretched between them
a map of Ireland, a reminder of that final trip and all it symbolized
That morning, a sign arrived in the form of these words:
“There is much to learn from swimming in the deep shades of our grief, and we will emerge from it basking in the sun. If we cannot honor our endings, then how are we supposed to usher in new beginnings?”
— Mimi Zhu, Grief Is an Ancestor
We believe in signs. And this weekend, we received many. Karim wasn’t alone - his childhood best friend, Sam, walked beside him. Together they carried the weight of memory, laughter, and loss, honoring Matt in a way that would make him beam with joy.
At the same time, my husband completed his master’s degree in mindfulness - a milestone that feels like both a continuation and a tribute. To walk forward with awareness, to honor the energy of what remains, to keep listening for the quiet messages that love never stops sending.
Everything is energy. And in that truth, nothing is ever truly lost.
If you made it this far - thank you for letting me spend time with Matt in the only way I can now. 💛
P.S. Thank you for letting me share Matt with you. If you’re walking with grief too, I hope this brings a little light to your path. May we all keep finding the quiet signs that love never leaves.
This is a deeply moving tribute. Thank you for sharing such intimate reflections with such grace. The way you’ve honored Matt’s life, and the bond he shared with your husband, is powerful and tender.
That final journey around Ireland, shaped by love and presence rather than distance, speaks volumes.
And the connection between grief, memory, and mindfulness is beautifully drawn. Matt’s spirit clearly lives on in the stories, the gear, the rituals, and the quiet signs that continue to show up.
What a meaningful way to carry someone forward.
Becca, I'm shedding tears reading this. Thank you for sharing Matt with us and please send Karim all my love and hugs. What a gift it is to be able to honor Matt like this, and for letting us share a little bit of his light.