Our lives are full of crossroads, either the fork in the road looming ahead, a four-way stop causing us to stand still, pausing at a roundabout, or possibly coming to an about-turn at a dead end.
In my mind, I’d hoped that the days of semi-retirement would merge or fall into each other in an easy, or somewhat disjointed manner, without too much thought or effort.
But as usual, I miscalculated and fell headlong into decision-making like a startled deer in the headlights. Bang!
At my age, it’s not really decision-making but reflecting on life, on future days, on how much time is in front of me and how to spend those days, where and doing what. The difference for me is that my crossroad has a parallel path that is in my peripheral vision and will run alongside any road I choose. The path of grief.
Whatever I choose, grief travels alongside. Sometime colliding, a near miss or a head on, sometime closing the gap or just holding its course.
The problem is, irrespective of my decision, I have to first confront my sadness, come to terms with not having my own, and wanting to be there for others, for the people and children I care so deeply for. The yearning to be in their lives more, and to pause mine, to be available and close.
So the thought of moving away, even if only for periods of time, makes me anxious and sad. Missing events, kids’ special days, sleepovers, birthdays and dates we share.
And here I am on the 20th of October, so far away, so sad, so confused, and yet at the same time, so determined.
I feel like shouting, “Why, why, why?” But the universe just shouts back… remember, celebrate, light incense, a candle, and let those you love walk with you.
Whichever turn I take will not be wrong; it will be right for me at that time. And if later on it becomes obvious that the fork I chose was not the greatest, another crossroad will appear, and I can try another or do a U-turn.
Aidan will always walk with me, as will Laila, and so will my grief. My sadness will reveal itself at the most expected and unexpected times, as it seems to have free will, no matter where in the world I am.
My family, friends and grandkids know how much I love and cherish them, and if not, I will just have to tell them all more often.
If my path strays further away, it will always bring me home, and I will always make sure I come home to remain a part of their lives.
I know in my heart that life has an end date. It can be short and sad, but it needs to be lived.
When Aidan died, I chose life, and so I must live my choice, as hard as it sometimes can be. I can hear Aidan in my ear saying, “Mother, keep going, keep living, travelling and smiling.”
My boy, I will drink my coffee today, see the sky so blue and the bougainvilleas dropping their flowers like confetti around me, and I’ll smile at you through my tears, heartache and grief, and hold my love for you so close. Remembering the beautiful days and years we shared.
As I approach my next crossroad, you will hold my hand and guide me, and journey with me on that parallel road.
Each step will be easier knowing you walk alongside.
The 20th of October still feels so raw, saying goodbye to you sixteen years ago feels like today.
You really left too early, as I had so much I still wanted to do and share with you.
Rest easy, my boy.
I miss you so.
