Reliving

 I have shared before that I have felt called to write a book about the journey with Jessica's illness and our spiritual valleys that accompany that path. Jessica often said that she should "write a book" about her experiences, and I told her that I could be her "ghostwriter." 

While I can't really ghostwrite in the usual sense of her telling me her feelings and experiences, I felt that I could write it from my perspective and try to convey much of, at least, what she shared with me. During the time of her illness, she and I became closer than we had been in many years. We had the time to talk and work out some of the difficulties we experienced in our relationship, primarily brought about by her biological father. He relinquished his relationship with her several years ago, and while Jessica reached out to him by phone more than once to try to build a bridge, he responded by hanging up on her. The repeated emotional pain he inflicted on her during her lifetime was too much to bear any further. 

So, back to the book. I had been doing well writing this book and working through not only Jessica's early years, but also the recent past of building a family and discovering the diagnosis of cancer. When the part of writing the book arrived that covered her hospitalizations in London and Toronto, it became more of a challenge. Reliving those days when I held hope and grief in the same hand brought back so much anguish that these chapters were extremely painful to write. 

It had actually been a few weeks since I had really completed any writing other than a blog post a couple of weeks ago. Yesterday, I didn't plan to work on the book, but for some reason I opened up my Scrivener program. I started to write about Jessica's stay on the palliative ward in the hospital. Since these were her final days, I wanted to get the correct timeline, so I went back through some Facebook posts. This was challenging in and of itself, but the real wave activator came when I went to the Messenger thread between Jessica and me, around the time of her arm injury and diagnosis.  

Reliving those days stirred a range of emotions I hadn't been prepared for. After all, I was only checking dates to have an accurate timeline. 

The Fork Not Chosen

I've recently started an intentional practice of regularly taking a walk in the woods near my home as a self-connection ritual. This was born out of my recent studies to become a certified grief coach. While rainy weather or other interruptions may interfere with this practice, I certainly have a better sense of myself for the day when I do embark on my walk, without my AirPods in my ears, of course.

Nature has always spoken to me.

It's the voice of God speaking to my heart. 

It gives me peace to see the world that has little to no interference of man, existing as it should. 

In the field before the forest entrance, I see:

The butterflies fluttering about

The dragonflies darting to and fro above my head

The deer that stops me in my tracks, as we capture a gaze in each other's eyes, 

  

They are like a hug from God to me. 

I feel enveloped in love.

As I approach the entrance to the woods, I am faced with a decision. 

The fork in the path. 

To the left is the shortest and easiest path. 

To the right is the longer and more difficult trail, 

Filled with puddles, ruts, and rougher terrain. 

I pause, worried I might not have the stamina to turn right. 

The route to the left would be so easy to take, and yes, I've walked it plenty of times. 

But the decision to the right would take me to two separate lookouts over the Ridge that has a beautiful river winding its way below. I may catch a glimpse of some deer stopping for a drink, but there is no guarantee. 

The funny thing is, no matter my decision, both routes lead to the same final path. 

I reflect that this is how God's purpose for our lives can play out. 

While His Purpose for our life at any given time will be the final result, how we get there can play out in several scenarios. 

Some of those experiences are due to the path we have chosen, while others may result from circumstances in our lives that perhaps we didn't choose, but the things of this world influenced our route. 

I definitely did not choose the route of my life over the last three years. Jessca's cancer diagnosis, treatment, and death were and continue to be the most difficult path of my life. That right turn at that fork in the trail was nothing I would ever choose or recommend. 

What that path taught me was nothing I could ever have learned from a textbook, YouTube video, or ChatGPT.

The compassion I now possess for others traveling a similar path is something I thought I had, but I've realized that it was a trait that was in a mere embryonic stage. 

Supporting others in grief and loss has become somewhat of a passion in my life. 

God has truly led me in this direction, and while the tragedy and pain were and still are something I will never completely heal from on this earth, I will take that pain and turn it into purpose to be present for others in the way He leads me. 

I know my Jess is cheering me on from above. She was always so proud of me when I embarked on a new venture, as I was of her. 

I miss her so much, but I will move forward while honouring her in all I do. 

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it."

Isaiah 30:21