Lonely Airport

                      

            As I prepare to fly to Indiana to visit relatives, I remember my first flight without Alan last year. While looking back, I realize I have grown through my grief and am able to face the single life a little better.

            Last year when tears began to spill, I hurried into the restroom to avoid stares and to be alone. Of course, I was already alone in the bustling airport. People milled about while I grieved. Memories  slammed me.

            At security, I waited in the long line. With hands over my head like a criminal, the machine scanned me. Like previous times, an attendant patted me down. After repacking my items and putting on my shoes, I hurried to the shuttle.

            At the end of the ride, a sign read Gates 70-90. It couldn’t be. Gate 121 wasn’t listed. Along with a group of four, we all searched for the missing gate.

            If I’d been with Alan, I would have been at the correct gate. We complemented each other and with two heads were able to navigate airports around the world.

            Loneliness joined me as I waited with the other wanderers for a returning shuttle. I hated the thought of going back through security to get to my correct gate. Thankfully, I had plenty of time before my flight was to leave.

            When I rushed to get in the security line, I heard a voice calling out urgently, “Lady!”

            I turned. One of my lost companions pointed to an overhead sign with my gate number. I didn’t have to return through security but just get on a different shuttle. I thanked her and stepped onto the train. What a relief.

            At the end of the ride, I found my gate easily. With an hour and a half before departure, I waited. Grief gripped me and I remembered countless airports with Alan. We talked, laughed and rested. How I missed him.

            I struggled again to keep tears from flowing but they trickled. Couples held hands. Talked of their adventures while I sat alone.

            My newspaper tried to distract me. A bit of food filled my stomach but nothing filled the cavern in my heart. I looked forward to seeing my family in Indiana, but the first step of traveling alone was daunting.

            On the plane, a young woman sat by the window beside me. She kept staring at me and then asked to get out. For some reason, she wanted another seat. Was I scary?

            A couple took the two seats next to me. I read to keep my mind occupied which helped the sadness lift a little.

            After the plane touched down, I called my cousin. While I walked through the terminal, I noticed people in wheelchairs.  They reminded me of the last trips with my parents when mother needed assistance. I pushed more unwelcome memories aside.

            At the curb, I waited again. Cars came and dropped passengers off. After several minutes, my cousin came out of the terminal looking for me.

            In my clouded state of mind, I had once more followed the wrong signs. I stopped at departures instead of where she waited at arrivals.

            Would my mind clear over time? Would I continue to be in a fog of grief?

            Being with my extended family in Indiana, helped in my healing. We talked of my parents and of Alan. I visited places I had lived and played as a child. Though sad at times, being with loved ones in familiar surroundings comforted me.

            As I return to Indiana, I know I have traveled further on the grief journey this past year. But more grief awaits as I visit those who have recently lost their spouses and parents too. We will share an unwelcome but common bond.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.

Psalm 34: 4 NIV

           

Dear Father, be with me as I travel alone. I know you are with me in all circumstances. Amen

            

My Dejected Plant

     

So bow down with God’s strong hand: then when the time comes, God will lift you up. Since God cares for you, let Him carry all your burdens and worries.

1 Peter 5:6 The Voice

            Wilted petals dropped to the floor. Blackened leaves drooped from spindly stems. My once flourishing desert rose looked dejected and pathetic.

            My care of it hadn’t changed. It remained in the same position as last year when spectacular pink blooms cascaded down the vibrant plant for months. It should have been as gorgeous and vigorous as it had been.

            However, a close examination revealed an ugly, black substance on declining leaves and stems. An unknown and unwelcome intruder severely altered its beauty.

            Without treatment, it might recover slowly or perhaps die. The plant did nothing to cause the debilitating disease but suffered the consequences.

            In this world, destructive circumstances also attack and debilitate lives. Often, unexpectedly and with little warning and no apparent cause.

            In my grief, I have learned the Holy Spirit offers peace, strength, and comfort. Many times it comes through those around me. A hug, cup of tea, an invitation or listening ear.

            After many months of dealing with multiple sources of grief, healing has begun but isn’t complete. It will probably never totally go away.  Sudden waves of sadness still come but aren’t as frequent. Through it all, I know I am not alone.

Father, thank you for walking with me through all of the storms of life.  Amen

The Good and the Bad

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. Colossians 3: 17 NIV

            Just outside my patio, water droplets glistened on purple flowers and dried up blooms. Bright yellow daisies pointed their smiling faces toward the sun while the brown ones drooped.

            Inside my porch, red blooms decorated the desert rose plant and the floor. Orchid blooms withered next to brilliant white ones.

            Two planters of robust greenery reminded me of Alan’s memorial service. For over a year I nurtured them and watched them grow. Their presence brought memories but not tears.

            Patches of algae marred the mirrored lake. In my sanctuary, signs of death mingled with the beauty of life.

            My old life, now gone, next to my new one. Dead blossoms can’t be revived. Neither will loved ones return.

            However, like my memorial plants, I can grow and flourish in my new life. Throughout each day, I think of Alan, dad, mother and others who are no longer here. Their legacies continue in their sayings, actions, and personal items.

            I find myself remembering things they did or said. Various objects bring back memories.

            “This garage is a mess and needs to be cleaned,” Alan often said.

            We differed on what constituted a mess. But I smiled as I swept and mopped the garage. I knew it would have made him happy.

            When I don’t want to make a phone call to tackle a problem, I remember how he diligently took care of things. His attention to detail stimulates me to follow his example.

            When I told Emily one of dad’s favorite jokes, she laughed. His humor lives on.

            Dad’s determination to stay fit and play softball until a few months before his death, encourages me to exercise when I would rather relax.

            As I straighten my closets, I remember how carefully mother arranged each of hers. Her example stirs me to be more organized.

           

            Each time I use one of her bowls, I remember countless meals she fixed for her family and friends. Her hospitality makes me want to do the same.

            The influence of each one surrounds and comforts me. They live on in each person they touched.

Heavenly Father, thank you for the influence of loved ones who are no longer here. May their legacies continue. Amen