Another Bend In The Road

Life may be a highway but it’s not a straight one.

It’s full of bends, curves, switchbacks and long stretches with distant horizons.

For a gal who likes knowing where she’s headed and how long it might take to get there, it’s more than a little challenging.

Sometimes I’d want to get out and camp on the side of life’s highway, take a pause and just catch my breath before the next set of roller coaster hills forces me to hold on tight for the ride.

In nearly fifty-seven years I’ve hardly ever been able to do that. So here I am, barreling down the road again toward more curves and more changes.

My youngest son and my husband are on their way right now from the Left Coast driving a truck toward home. When they get here we’ll have to unload an apartment full of stuff from my hubby’s place out there into our already pretty stuffed house. We’ve lived a lot of life in these walls and I readily admit I’m a saver of memories and things that signify special moments.

So while they were packing and loading, I’ve been cleaning around here.

It’s been physically, mentally and emotionally difficult to drag my body and heart down memory lane.

A Short Walk Down Memory Lane from the 1990s | Chris Mercer

It’s just so hard-STILL– to touch things Dominic once touched and it takes my breath away. My heart has broken again over not only losing HIM but also losing the family I once had. We’ve all changed so. very. much. A mother can’t help but wonder if life for my surviving children might not be much brighter and easier if their brother were still here to share it.

Tiny bits of this and that force me to face things I’ve forgotten (sometimes on purpose) and feel things I’ve suppressed. It’s a grueling process.

I’ve had to take multiple breaks and simply walk away from the mess I’m creating in an effort to organize and downsize but I know it will be worth it in the end.

So I’ll keep on keeping on.

I’m sure this curve won’t be the last one.

Retirement here we come!

Treacherous Travel

My husband had to make a plane on Saturday and it took us over two hours to drive the 50 miles to the airport from our house.  We took a couple detours around accidents that stopped traffic but we were still reduced to an agonizing crawl for most of the way.

Down here in Dixie we don’t do winter precipitation well.  A half inch of snow calls for a complete city shutdown and ice means days trapped inside our homes.

Northerners laugh at us slip-sliding across the interstate but how are you supposed to travel on snow and ice when you don’t have the equipment necessary to make the journey?

Even snow tires don’t matter when you hit black ice.

As I watch the sun melt the remains of our latest winter “storm” I’m reminded of at least one reason this journey of child loss is so. very. difficult.

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There is nothing that can prepare you for it.  No way to suit up or grab gear or train for burying your child.

It’s treacherous travel and there’s no opting out.

You can’t wait a few hours or a day or a week and rearrange your schedule. You are dropped right down in the valley and forced to keep moving.

And the whole way is black ice-slick and scary.

You are in a spin before you know it, panicked and trying to straighten out without crashing.

I haven’t crashed.

It’s good to be reminded every once in awhile that all things considered,  I’m doing pretty well.

I am making progress-slow, slow progress-but I’m still on the road.