I’m Deborah and I hope to get to know you as you get to know me. This is my first blog post and I’d like to start with a story.
In 2006, my husband and I drove from our home somewhere in south Texas to pick up our God-daughter and her soon to be husband at their university in Oregon. We had driven various routes to the school many times and thought we’d do something different this one time. It was going to be the last. They were graduating and moving to the other side of the country. We didn’t anticipate any other cross country trips.
We took a more circuitous route and ended up going through Utah and past the great Salt Lake. Taking off west, with me driving, we were sure we’d be in Oregon in no time. The landscape was lovely if a little bleak. There were some rolling hills and we were on a road that had little, if any, traffic. It was idyllic. We drove and drove and drove some more and seemed to get nowhere. We didn’t have a GPS, just a map and were having so much fun we actually forgot to look at it. After awhile, though, we realized we weren’t getting any closer to civilization and thought it might be a good idea to find out where we were. About that time, we saw a roadside sign that read “French Glen.” French Glen! Where the heck are we. We quickly determined that there was nothing in French Lick except a sign and a whole lot of mosquitoes. This was not on our carefully highlighted route. In fact, I think we both had to take off our glasses to squint at the map and find out where the heck we were. We had taken a detour of about 50 miles.
I’ve thought about this story many times over the past few months. You see. I’ve taken a detour. A sudden detour and one that I certainly hadn’t planned on. My sweet husband, the love of my life, died on January 27, 2015. Unexpected. Certainly unplanned. And sudden. No time to even wrap my head around the fact that he would be leaving. And there aren’t enough maps in the world to get me back on track.
I’m going to tell you my story. I’m going to share with you my pain, my struggles, and even some joys. I’m going to invite you to leave comments. I want to hear from others who have lost their loves. I want to support you as you support me. I want us to knit together a community of hope. There must be something on the other side of grief. I’d like to invite you to go there with me.
sudden detour 
Deborah, this is so poignant and so well done. I admire you for taking something hard like this and finding a way to give it as a gift to others, sisal
LikeLike
Thank you, Sisal, for your support. This feels very scary and very right.
LikeLike
My detour began 23 years ago, when at 38 I found myself a widow with 3 young children. We collected and told stories on our new journey. We shared them out loud, we wrote them down. Your story makes me wonder about detours. They can take us down the wrong path, or set us back on track, sometimes they open up new possibilities. I can assure you there is hope and even joy on the other side of grief. Look forward to hearing your stories, and sharing some of mine. Thanks for writing. Karen.
LikeLike
Karen, yes, I intend to write more about detours. I completely agree with your sentence “they can take us down the wrong path, or sest us back on track, sometimes they open up new possibilities.” I hope you will continue to share your story and stories here.
LikeLike
My ‘widow-hood’ pends. My sweet love of the past 30+ years has been leaving me for the past 6 years via Alzheimer’s. It’s a very long, very slow, very painful, very stressful and exhausting “good-bye”. He still knows me, his children, and (sort of) his grandchildren….now all by name but who they sort of are. He knows and loves our pets—although he hasn’t remembered names much for a very long time now. I often feel totally trapped and isolated from all I have always loved—-the things I’ve always loved doing, the sense of having any freedom in my life, any solitude, any respite from responsibility. I’ll be 70 in October. Debbie, you have many years to recover, live, return to joy. I am so glad you are doing this blog. I am so glad you will have the friends and contacts who will share this part of the difficult journey with you. I hope the best for all of us.
LikeLike
Jan, my heart hurts for you. I know that every day is a struggle on the road to the long goodbye. I hope we can keep reaching out and supporting each other. It’s good to not journey alone and yet I know we all feel so very alone.
LikeLike
Yes, that ‘alone-ness’ is so daunting, isn’t it? And seemingly unending. And painful. Figuratively & literally. Do let’s share supportiveness ongoing. I certainly need that, too! Always, perpetually tired! You, too? I suspect much of that is clinical depression.
LikeLike
Delighted to hear Lorie’s going to be with you soon. And I’d love to see pic.s and hear about the new hubbie-to-be!! Of course, Lorie doesn’t know me at all, but I’m guessing she knows I’m “out here”, so please give her my regards!
LikeLike
I’m glad you’re here, sharing your story.
LikeLike
I’m glad you’re here and sharing your story.
LikeLike