A trip to a scenic corner. A step in the journey that now feels new
We stopped the car suddenly when we saw the rainbow on the horizon across an empty field.
It was perfect. Brilliant colors, with the hint of a second rainbow arching above it. We were dwarfed by it, and it seemed like it would sit there forever, just for us to take in. But of course, rainbows are fleeting; I think we knew we should not pass this one by.
It was only one of many marvels we witnessed in and around Grand Teton National Park on our vacation last week. As a friend wrote me later, “awesome,” so overused these days, should be reserved for a wonder like the Tetons.
I was there with my son and his wife and their son, along with my daughter-in-law’s parents.
They all were enjoying the rainbow, each in their own way. The gals were taking photos. The six-year-old was scampering between the car and his mama on the other side of the road. The guys were watching from a distance, and I stood away from them.
For the rest of our lives
I took a picture and texted it to my daughter. “Well, you know what I’m thinking,” I wrote.
“That will always be my first thought, for the rest of my life,” she texted back.
Her mother loved rainbows. No activity was too important not to interrupt at the possibility one would appear. If she had been with me on this trip, I’m certain this rainbow would have been her highlight.
But, alas, she was not with me. I stood there alone and remembered times we had left the dinner table to run to the front porch or the backyard to get a view of a rainbow in our neighborhood. I could hear her squeals of delight. I could feel her excitement. I remembered, and unbidden tears flowed freely as I stood alone beside this stretch of pavement in Wyoming.
New territory
This was not the first time I had traveled with this group but without Evelyn. Two years ago, the six of us were in Banff together. I recorded then my twinges of sadness to take my first vacation while Evelyn stayed behind.
But she was at home in our house then, with our daughter. I talked with them every day. She was ready for me to return by the time my week was over.
This year, I don’t really think she noticed I was away. I didn’t tell her where I was going, and I didn’t talk about the trip when I came home.
Mountain poses. One of four antler arches on each corner of the city square in downtown Jackson Hole. Cowboy Coaster, a manmade wonder.
(Facebook friends will find more photos there.)
One of her caregivers said they noticed a change in her demeanor last week; she didn’t smile as much. “She was gloomy while you were gone,” one told me yesterday.
I’m not so sure. I had to pull her away from her newspaper Monday just to say hello, the first time I had seen her in nine days. I showed her a couple of pictures from the week on my phone, and she didn’t react. This seems like new territory to me.
Surprised by my tears
I would have thought I would have handled the grief by now. I was surprised more than once by my own quiet tears during the trip. I always kept them private. It’s time to move on, I told myself.
I’m trying. After all, I had jumped at the chance to take this vacation. Back home, I keep busy with new opportunities to serve or socialize or learn or enjoy. I do fine—until I start remembering.
Through the years we often traveled this week in July, and Facebook memories were popping up on my phone throughout my time away. There Evelyn and I were together in fascinating places with wonderful people, often including this same family group. Evelyn and I traveled with them more than once.
I’m happy for the freedom to get away again, now that others are caring for Evelyn. I wouldn’t have missed the trip for anything. I am moving on.
But I can’t forget. I don’t want to. Maybe someday happiness at the memories will overshadow the sadness that such memories will never be created again.
Maybe someday
Now that I’m back home, there’s much to tend to here and now. Generally, usually, I’m OK with all of it. I have so much to be thankful for!
Maybe someday, during one of my regular visits, there will be a rainbow in the sky above Artis Senior Living. Maybe someday Evelyn and I will enjoy a rainbow together there. It’s a hope to hold onto.