The Joy of Rambling

5/12/25

Such a journey I am on. I feel nothing. Floating head. Heavy eyelids. I could just sit all day on this couch and do nothing, and that would be fine with me. 

Do I miss him, or do I miss the purpose I found in caring for him? I don’t think “miss” is the right word. Is it a form of PTSD? What I feel is this: I put all my effort and energy into walking him to the finish line. I was slowly dying along with him. My world became narrower and more isolated. I slept little and ate little. Then on that morning at 6:00 when he drew his last breath, he was finished and I was left on the brink of death with no door to walk through. 

And so began the long retreat. Retreat away from the finish line alone. 

I am not finished yet. This retreating road is gray and dusty, dry and fraught with threatening tree roots, stones and rubble. I have to make my way carefully, but not too slowly. If I slow too much I will stop. If I stop I may never get up and start again. I don’t want that.

People ask me if I feel free. No, I do not. I’m free to go anywhere I want. Free to call friends. Free to watch TV shows I enjoy. Free to go for a long swim in the pool. But I don’t feel like doing any of these things. Nothing appeals to me.

That’s an interesting statement. The only thing that appeals to me is “nothing.” “Nothing” is a safe place. It asks nothing of me and gives nothing to me. It allows me to stop on the retreating road…just for a bit. 

Here I see friends who come and take my arms, hoisting me up to my feet, encouraging me to keep moving forward. They shoo away the “nothing” and replace it with something. Love and care. Moments of distraction so I don’t notice I’m still walking on the retreating road.

Eventually, with enough time, the road will begin to disappear as small tufts of grass sprout up and alter the landscape. Before I know it I’ll see a lush green field. Scents awakened by morning dew, will greet me with each breath. Familiarity. I will keep walking, more motivated now. My friends’ grip on my arms will begin to loosen as I discover strength returning to my tired bones. I’ll look up, and there before me, instead of the valley of the shadow of death, will lie Hope. 

All my senses will awaken and take in the fragrance, warmth and sounds of life. Unaware that I’m healing, I’ll suddenly notice I’m walking along side my friends, chatting, laughing, remembering. The memories will come with love and gratitude and  an occasional tear. That tear will survive as long as I live. A reminder of loss that is added to my new journey. A piece of reality that neither soothes or frightens me. It just is.

I am on my way there. It’s called my future, and I embrace it with all the courage I can muster.