Refuge in Zion

Some friends of ours offered to treat us to a getaway trip shortly after Louie passed away.  We accepted this generous gift and headed out to Zion National Park for an emotionally loaded Mother’s Day weekend. Zion is a Hebrew word that means "a place of peace and relaxation" and that's exactly what it provided for us. (Not sure why I'm so into the meaning of words these recent posts).

There are so many metaphors when we're out in nature. I thought about a few life lessons as we hiked through different parts of the canyon.  None are particularly insightful, but they are particularly relevant for me in this season.   

Zion reflection #1: focus on the step directly in front of me.  When we were hiking on the trail called “The Narrows” (bottom right picture and yes...everyone should do this someday!), I would often casually browse ahead at our trail along the Virgin River. This is normally fine for easy parts, but definitely not the right move when wading through water.  I would start crossing, get a little over confident, look up ahead, and invariably lose my balance.  Then I had to remind myself to focus on finding my footing for every step...lest I fall in the river and damage my much loved iphone or camera.  

It feels the same way for processing this tragedy.  My grief therapist often reminds me to pace myself since I try to anticipate too many variables for the future.  It’s hard to only look at one step when we had planned out something very different for our life with Louie. That being said, it makes sense to takes things slowly and gently to see how I feel after each step.

Zion reflection #2: My grief is not larger than the canyon (look for Warren standing on the bottom in the left pic).  

It’s been 60 days since Louie’s death.  I’ve cried every day.  That’s 60x more than any other time in my life and still going.  The sadness can feel suffocating sometimes.  But when I was walking through the canyons, it reminded me that while my grief is deep, the world is bigger.  And being small helped me to take a breath and remember that many others have suffered and survived.  And that’s what we’re doing right now.  We’re surviving.    

May 12 was Louie’s due date.  Somehow W & I feel different now that we’ve turned the page on that date.  You turn a little into Rain Man as a bereaved parent.  Dates, holidays, days of the week, anniversaries of birth/death are all significant.  2014 was supposed to be the best year yet: having a baby, celebrating 10 hard-earned years of marriage, turning 35.  We never imagined that our life would be quiet and peaceful after May 12.  But it’s time to take a step back from looking ahead and work on getting through tomorrow.