The coast in winter

My husband fished the Atlantic out of Lunenburg for twenty years. He died in 2019. The sea didn't take him the way I sometimes say it did to people who don't know us. He had a stroke at 54 and he was gone in three days. But he was a fisherman and the sea was his life and the shorthand is close enough. I'm a nurse practitioner on the south shore of Nova Scotia. I kept working through the grief because stopping would have been worse. I know this about myself. The writing is memoir and it's nature writing and I'm not always sure where the line is. Last winter I wrote about watching a gale come in off the Mahone Bay and realizing I was waiting for it with something that felt like relief. I don't know exactly what that means and I'm not trying to conclude it. The page is the only place I don't have to.