On Mother’s Day, I needed to pack for my short cruise/adventure to Vancouver Island. Four days on board ship, with two stops. First, Nanaimo, then, Victoria. A simple process. Except that I began to feel anxious. Afraid I might forget something, unsure what I might need. I went to bed, but slept fitfully. Only in the morning, at the last minute did I realize that my heart was making a connection with the last cruise, one year ago. Last Mother’s Day, the family sat around the dinner table, quizzing Larry as to how he thought he could manage the trip to Alaska. I wanted him to change his mind, come to his senses, recognize the struggle of getting anywhere, appreciate the work involve, admit his weakness. I fretted over the complications and possibility of another medical emergency, concerned about his need for assistance to stand, his fatigue when walking. I wasn’t convinced that I could relax, even if he just stayed on the ship, watching the glaciers slip by.
Our concerns were valid.
We set sail on May 27. On the third day, another bout with peritonitis began. His temperature rose to 100.8. He slept through the day, he didn’t eat. He became dehydrated. He spent the night in the ship’s hospital. He was transported by ambulance to the hospital in Juneau, treated with antibiotics for three days, and flew home with John meeting his plane, and settling him into his own bed. My sister Susan and I continued the cruise. Juneau, Skagway and Victoria went by in a blur. I watched the glaciers we had come to see through tears.
Larry would have two more hospitalizations, dying one month later on June 29th. This is one of those periods of hard-wired memories.
This year, it was a different ship, different companions, a different destination. I would travel with friends from our time at Renton, with friend Flora as my cabin mate. This time I did not have to pack a suitcase full of medical supplies for daily and overnight dialysis. I did not have to double check the list of supplies, or ask for assistance to manage three bags besides my own. I did not have to arrange for wheelchair transportation at the dock. Yet, I became anxious, unable to make simple decisions, a nagging feeling that something could go wrong, that someone was depending on me, a sense that I would not relax, didn’t know how to relax, a fear that there would be shadows following me.
Yet, I left, hoping to find the reset button.
I learned that traveling alongside friends was different than “traveling with.” Among friends, mostly former parishoners, was another recent widow. There was opportunity to empathize, to share memories, to accept my ongoing grief, to talk, to be heard. And, there was laughter, lovely, lovely laughter. Tears running down my checks laughter. There was affirmation and appreciation and acknowledgment of our ministry as a team, enjoyment of who I am becoming.
On our way to Tea at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, I entered a jewelry store. I told Flora about the ways I learned to guard my reaction to beautiful things. Larry, out of his unending devotion and desire to please me, to spoil me, to give me whatever made me happy, would hear me catch my breath, and offer to buy whatever I admired. Sometimes I was successful in convincing him it wasn’t necessary, but often, when I was distracted with the next beautiful thing, he would surreptitiously purchase it and surprise me later. We were often drawn to the fire of opals.
This time, I pointed to a ring in the display case. The saleswoman was happy to help me slip it on my finger, and walk with me out to see how it caught sunlight. I was thrilled by its brilliance, its perfect fit. It is the culmination of all the gorgeous pieces of jewelry I have admired over the years which I refused to let Larry buy for me because I felt undeserving, or because they were never precisely what I really wanted. This ring is unique, fills the indentation from my wedding ring. It reminds me to value myself as independent, self-sufficient, and loved.
As it sparkles I see a sign of the formation of fire into life. I have no doubt that Larry considers me worthy. That alone brings me joy.
Let the reset take hold.
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