Halfway To Who Knows Where

It is September 1, 2020. One half of a year has passed since starting this journey. 6 months. 181 days. 4,344 hours. 260,640 minutes. 15,38,400 seconds. I made it. I’m not sure what I expected to find when reaching this milestone. I just wanted to get here; to put the days of rawness behind me. And in 6 more months from now, I want to summit the peak of one year on this hijacked journey. To get through a year of firsts without her. To stand on top of 12 months widowed with a 360 degree view and see where I came from and look ahead to where I am going. From wounded to healed? From hopeless to hopeful? From living to alive? Maybe. Yes. Please.

I’m not an expert on grief. I am an expert on me. I haven’t needed to scream, cry endless tears or verbally express my inner pain with my outside voice. People grieve differently. I needed time. Not the time I imagined. Not the time anyone of us imagined for our lives in 2020, but time contemplating what remains of my life in the wake of Christy’s death. And then picking up those pieces and rebuilding without knowing what the final structure will look like.

There is an administrative side of death one has to work through as well. Wills, trusts, paperwork, finances, bills, lawyers, households tasks, services to organize and stay on top of now that they are no longer a shared burden. These became a distraction I probably needed more than I realized.

This was not my first life crisis. I found my way through prior dark days traversing mazes filled with hazards while blindfolded. Those experiences didn’t make me stronger; instead, they revealed to me my own mental and emotional fortitude. Christy knew this about me and this knowledge freed her from the need to burden herself with worry about me in the months prior to her death. Concern – yes. Worry – no.

Despite the challenges of grieving in a pandemic, my sentence served hasn’t been in solitary confinement thanks to an amazing support system near and far. Zoom gatherings, FaceTime calls, snail mail cards, WhatsApp and Facebook messenger conversations, text messages and good old fashion phone calls are my proxies for in person contact. I get some of the latter too, but not as much as I would like. I’m sure the same is true for you these days but for different reasons.

Then there was the sudden interruption of my daughter’s college spring semester that sent her and her boyfriend to our home to complete their studies late March. It was a blessing that helped me through the rawest months. We engaged in the semblance of normalcy sans Christy. During the day classes for them and remote work for me, and in the evenings, a shared meal. Our daily communion of fellowship.

When they returned to the uncertainly of a fall semester a few weeks ago, I hoisted myself up on my wobbly legs like a newborn calf, trusting they’d support me. They did.

On this milestone day, I FaceTime with Courtney. We share our favorite Christy stories and we laugh. It feels good. At this stage in my journey, I am strong enough to further explore the set of instructions Christy entrusted to Courtney. While I stepped out of her hospital room the day before she died Christy asked Courtney to “Take care of mom. It’s okay if she wants to see someone after this. Make sure she isn’t alone, that she is with friends and goes out and travels to keep loneliness at bay.”

I ask the question I feared hearing the answer to the most, “Did she seem afraid or anxious.” I brace myself.

“No”, Courtney tells me. “She said this in her Christy like way as if she were giving me directions on how to get somewhere.”

I think about that description; Christy giving directions to help get us somewhere else from where we were at that moment to where we needed go. She was sharing a map in our most dire time in her always calm, level headed and matter-of-fact way. She was our rudder; now we had to steer this family without her guidance and this was her way of sending us off.

After the worst storms, beautiful rainbows arc across the sky. They delight us with their beauty, remind us of God’s promise, speak to our souls and give us hope. While I journey through the next 6 months, 181 days, 4,344 hours, 260,640 minutes and 15,38,400 seconds, I will be looking for rainbows.