Ever since my son died I have fantasized leaving. At first it was an escape fantasy, pure and simple: just point the car out of town in any direction and start driving. Of course where I live this included pointing it west where that meant driving off a cliff, and at my worst I considered that on a daily basis, too. I didn't want to see anything that had anything to do with the past. I didn't want to drive past the hospital where he was born, I didn't want to see our own house or the apartment where I found him dead. I didn't want to see my friends because the pain in their faces and in their voices was unbearable. Even my husband and other son made me want to flee because seeing their devastation was almost worse than experiencing my own.
Now it has been two years. Everything changes. The rawness of grief becomes less constant. Moments of joy once again fuse together and whole afternoons or mornings or nights taste delicious again. There are always the moments of stabbing pain--the missing, pure and simple, that will never be gone. But, though none of the old triggers set me off in the life-stopping way they used to, I still feel the need to leave. I keep coming back to this desire. I've been trying to explore it more and more as time goes by and I think it has to do with needing to be alone to stitch myself back together.
Long before Caleb died our family was in chaos around his life. My husband and I had for years neglected our own relationship, focusing everything on Caleb and his vulnerabilities and enormous needs. Everything we did as a family centered around what was best for Caleb in our eyes. It was as if all three of us,( my husband, other son and I), were focused exclusively on one thing--keeping Caleb alive and keeping his hope alive. When he died, each of our individual lives shattered. At first we were each other's refuge. We cried openly, screamed openly, sat rocking and uncommunicative openly and we each held space for the others to do this. But over time, we have begun to develop scar tissue. We hide our pain from each other because we know what it takes to go on and acknowledging how tightly we are holding ourselves threatens that hard-won control.
Last year, I began fantasizing about going to South America and finding a community where I would not be around English speakers where I could simply be by myself--a self-exile from familiarity and comfort. I want to feel what I need to feel without censure and I want privacy. I want to fold what I need to fold away and I want to learn to carry what I need to carry on my own, without the distraction of anyone else. Not forever. Just for now.
So I traded every credit card mile I have been saving for a ticket to Ecuador. I will leave in August and land in Quito. I booked a cheap room through AirBnB with a couple that rents out a small room in the historic section of the city. Though I have only corresponded with them through email in Spanish, one of the guys is named Byron and looks very British so I suspect that he will speak English. Other than that plan, there is no plan for the next 3-4 months. I don't have any money saved and my husband is only going along with this plan if I can manage to pay for myself when I am there so I will have to find something. I am actually feeling a lot of fear about that though I am practicing self-talking myself down from that useless state.
I just heard that one of my former students (now 19) is working for room and board in an Inn in the Amazonian region in exchange for handling the English Facebook page, baking desserts, and gardening. If I could find something like that I would be in heaven. Whatever happens, I know that it will be an adventure and I am looking forward to being surprised by life. I will take some of Caleb's ashes with me and scatter them where it feels appropriate. He always wanted to spend his life traveling. Getting a felony for possession of acid was one of the circumstances in his life that defeated him. I used to try to tell him that it would not impact him as much as he thought but I know that it would have meant more than a few countries that would not have let him in. I wanted to take his backpack but it is just too big for me.
I took a leave from my job and yesterday was my last day of classes. I got so many hugs and cards from my students and my fellow teachers and the staff at my school. I feel very privileged to have a job that I feel so appreciated for and yet even that is something I am feeling distance from. It is as if every connection I ever had was severed and I am sitting in front of one of those electrical boxes on the street, staring at a thousand wires, wondering what is essential and what can just stay severed. Everything has changed, is changing still. I think what I am doing is trying to create space for myself. I need to feel my way back into my own body.
If I manage to support myself for the whole 4 months of my work-leave, I will turn 60 in South America. If that comes true I will write a birthday blog in Spanish.
Now it has been two years. Everything changes. The rawness of grief becomes less constant. Moments of joy once again fuse together and whole afternoons or mornings or nights taste delicious again. There are always the moments of stabbing pain--the missing, pure and simple, that will never be gone. But, though none of the old triggers set me off in the life-stopping way they used to, I still feel the need to leave. I keep coming back to this desire. I've been trying to explore it more and more as time goes by and I think it has to do with needing to be alone to stitch myself back together.
Long before Caleb died our family was in chaos around his life. My husband and I had for years neglected our own relationship, focusing everything on Caleb and his vulnerabilities and enormous needs. Everything we did as a family centered around what was best for Caleb in our eyes. It was as if all three of us,( my husband, other son and I), were focused exclusively on one thing--keeping Caleb alive and keeping his hope alive. When he died, each of our individual lives shattered. At first we were each other's refuge. We cried openly, screamed openly, sat rocking and uncommunicative openly and we each held space for the others to do this. But over time, we have begun to develop scar tissue. We hide our pain from each other because we know what it takes to go on and acknowledging how tightly we are holding ourselves threatens that hard-won control.
Last year, I began fantasizing about going to South America and finding a community where I would not be around English speakers where I could simply be by myself--a self-exile from familiarity and comfort. I want to feel what I need to feel without censure and I want privacy. I want to fold what I need to fold away and I want to learn to carry what I need to carry on my own, without the distraction of anyone else. Not forever. Just for now.
So I traded every credit card mile I have been saving for a ticket to Ecuador. I will leave in August and land in Quito. I booked a cheap room through AirBnB with a couple that rents out a small room in the historic section of the city. Though I have only corresponded with them through email in Spanish, one of the guys is named Byron and looks very British so I suspect that he will speak English. Other than that plan, there is no plan for the next 3-4 months. I don't have any money saved and my husband is only going along with this plan if I can manage to pay for myself when I am there so I will have to find something. I am actually feeling a lot of fear about that though I am practicing self-talking myself down from that useless state.
I just heard that one of my former students (now 19) is working for room and board in an Inn in the Amazonian region in exchange for handling the English Facebook page, baking desserts, and gardening. If I could find something like that I would be in heaven. Whatever happens, I know that it will be an adventure and I am looking forward to being surprised by life. I will take some of Caleb's ashes with me and scatter them where it feels appropriate. He always wanted to spend his life traveling. Getting a felony for possession of acid was one of the circumstances in his life that defeated him. I used to try to tell him that it would not impact him as much as he thought but I know that it would have meant more than a few countries that would not have let him in. I wanted to take his backpack but it is just too big for me.
I took a leave from my job and yesterday was my last day of classes. I got so many hugs and cards from my students and my fellow teachers and the staff at my school. I feel very privileged to have a job that I feel so appreciated for and yet even that is something I am feeling distance from. It is as if every connection I ever had was severed and I am sitting in front of one of those electrical boxes on the street, staring at a thousand wires, wondering what is essential and what can just stay severed. Everything has changed, is changing still. I think what I am doing is trying to create space for myself. I need to feel my way back into my own body.
If I manage to support myself for the whole 4 months of my work-leave, I will turn 60 in South America. If that comes true I will write a birthday blog in Spanish.
