Florida

I am writing this from the airplane, high in the sky above Florida. I am headed south for a much-needed weekend with some members of my online support group. I bought my ticket months ago, and have been counting down the weeks since then. Now, it is here. We approach in less than an hour, and it is with mixed emotions that I approach this weekend. I was excited. I was giddy with the thrill of getting together with other people who know the distinct and painful colors of widowhood. On approach—my emotions are jumbled. I wish with all my heart that I did not belong to this exclusive club. I long to be happily ensconced with Ammon, enjoying a rare break from the bustle and rush of everyday life. (side note—my laptop doesn’t like the previous sentence. I continually underlines it in the squiggly green line of grammatical error—even through my thrice adjustments to the wording. Meh.) Add to the mix the reality that last night—9 months, 5 days, and 1 hours after I was made a widow at 25 years old—I went on my first date with Mr. Columbus. It was a complete bust. Throughout the entire dinner I was acutely aware that the person sitting across from me held no attraction for me whatsoever. He committed the egregious sin of ordering his steak well done—and substituting his vegetable and salad for something starchy and completely void of nutrition. At this, I know that my beloved was spinning in his grave. Imagine me—sitting at a table with somebody who makes my various food tastes appear exotic and adventurous. How I missed him last night-and I couldn’t wait for the date to end. Now, I have to figure out how to break it off with Mr. Columbus without bruising his ego more than is necessary. I’m sure he sensed a peculiar coolness from me last night.
I’m not as ready as I thought, and that stings. As soon as I get a free moment this weekend, I am removing my dating profile and deleting Mr. Columbus’ email address from contact list. I should have listened to my internal cues yesterday—everything in me urged me to run far and fast in the opposite direction of the restaurant. I suppose, though, that at least now I know—and that is a blessing. I talked to my sister Erin the other day, and expressed my misgivings about dating. She asked me a question that has rattled around in my head since then—“Would you rather be sitting at a table across from somebody else, or by yourself?” I couldn’t answer. Now I can.
Any day, I’d rather sit by myself. Sitting across from somebody else only reminds me more vividly of all that has been lost. I miss Ammon, and it’s acutely worse when I’m sitting across from a man who will never be able to capture my heart.
Back to the matter at hand. My aircraft has begun its slow descent into sunny Florida. I know at the airport will be waiting for me three other widows, and a widower from Maryland. I look forward to meeting them—and I can’t explain fully why. We are to share a shuttle back to the resort, and from there my weekend of freedom begins. In this nearly 1 year of grief, it has been difficult to find those that I could share my pain with honestly. If nothing else, I know that there will be 35 other grief-stricken souls sharing the pain with me. I pray we can all shoulder each other’s burden.
That being said, I don’t want to be going to Florida. I spoke to my children on the phone this morning, and their sweet morning voices made me wish I were home, sitting around the breakfast table with them. I wish even more that there wasn’t an empty seat next to me at the breakfast table. I would give up this weekend—and all the other small perks of suddenly-single life, if only I go back to the life that was left behind on April 11th. I am startled, and left a little breathless at the strength of the pain and grief that is bubbling inside me today. I have worked so hard at suppressing it, at putting on a brave face, at moving forward through my life. This weekend is a brutal reminder that I am a widow. I am a widow at the tender age of 26, and I am about to meet a group of people who also are far too young to be facing the journey of life alone. Perhaps someday I will understand more fully why we all must suffer such great loss. God help us all.