For Thor - 28 - South

From now on, everything is a new experience; part of the new life that is happening after your death.

The big part of me wants to be still and silent where I can remain connected to you in that stillness. I want to sit only with this sorrow and allow it to flow through me like a river ribbons in and out of the crevices of a canyon. I'm slowly being woven back together in the deep solitude and silence that rests in the center of my soul. It takes time, but it might also be good to have some sunshine to help me along. Perhaps some rest and a small respite from the heavy, hard work of grieving would be just the thing.

So we piled into the truck and headed south. Our first destination was Savannah. As you know, a road trip is something I love. I take my place as the shotgun rider and cheerily chat about the scenery, local history, and random trivia. I make snacks and play music. I am the fun-maker. This trip I found myself mute, unable to carry on conversations. I am unable to remark on the passing landscape and interesting way-places. It's impossible to talk about you without tears, and it feels like avoidance if we don't. We are awkward and heavy with our clashing styles of grief. But it's okay. Learning to allow each other to grieve on our own terms is part of how the family gets knit back together. Another thing is 'us' learning how to be 'us' without you here. This is why we are on this trip. This is one of the reasons I said, "Okay, let's go."

Dad buoyed us along and kept a watchful eye on me knowing that leaving was going to be the hardest part. I had one anxiety attack just outside Appomattox. The thought of leaving you behind as we set off on this adventure - this family vacation without a member of our family - was more than I could bear. Note to self; I can quell anxiety if I breathe deeply and repeat my mantra with a set of mala beads. I was happy to find that this lifeline worked perfectly to restore peace when emotions get too big for my body or the cab of the truck.

As we moved south and the temperature gently rose, I could feel something inside me start to ease. I felt you were traveling with us, for one thing. You were right there in the truck riding along in all our hearts and with all our thoughts. I could relax a little and rest knowing we did not leave you behind. And I do need rest. I have never been so tired in my entire life. Grief has settled in my bones and exhausted me from the inside out. The warm sun is the perfect antidote. The soft sweet air of early spring in the south warms and fills the hollow parts of me with the energy from the stars.

Distractions are good, as they offer a much-needed respite for a weary heart. I am still not healed. Rushing headlong into the world full of whirling colors and sounds is overwhelming. The anguish of your death and my broken heart are so close to the surface at any moment. But, I know the world is not going anywhere. It will be there ready for me when the time is right. I can dip a toe in or even take a little swim and then retreat to rest once again.

Savannah was a pleasant distraction for us all. She was perfect for us with her laid back vibe steeped in southern charm. We wandered her streets like a band of nomads searching for, well, each other. We got lost amid the live oaks, Spanish moss, fountains and food and began to feel out the edges of the pieces of our family. I laughed, like actually laughed, for the first time since December 31. And there were tears, too. I cried in the breathtakingly beautiful St. John's Cathedral where I lit a candle for you and offered up my bleeding heart to Mother Mary. Of all the saints, she knows something about the pain of losing a beloved child and the transformative power of love.

The family had fun. For me it was poignant, but fun, nonetheless. We bought everyone hats in a famous river walk hat shop and then wore them the whole time we were in Savannah. We elicited many compliments and comments from our fellow travelers about our hats. We ate at small local and acclaimed eateries. We raised a glass to you over some amazing Cajun shrimp and grits in a brown roux that I know you would have loved. We rode on the prow of the river ferry back and forth half-dozen times from our hotel and marveled at the rising moon over this ghost-inhabited city. We laughed at how you would have rolled your eyes at the idea of wandering aimlessly around Savannah for 8 hours looking at fountains, trees, and cemeteries.

Bit by bit, we are learning how to walk again with one of our legs missing. It hurts, but it is possible.

With this knowledge we piled into the truck and pushed on, heading further south and deeper into the warm embrace of the sun. See you on Cocoa Beach, Bubby.

I love you,
Mom