My
husband Jim was an adventurous soul.
Once on a cold, snowy January day and night, he rode a greyhound bus for
23 hours after traveling with our son back to Ithaca, New York, for David’s
second semester in a master’s program there.
The crazy man even walked around downtown Columbus, Ohio, about two a.m.
during a layover stop along the way. Doesn’t that sound like a really good
idea? Although—it would qualify for an
adventure.
When I was growing up, I definitely
qualified for adventurous. My neighborhood
was Wally and June Cleavor worthy (of Leave it to Beaver television
fame), and I rode my bike to friends’ houses, suffered countless bruises
running around on the school playground, and attempted flips on both the
trampoline and low diving boards. Oddly,
in contrast, a few weeks before his death, Jim bravely jumped off the low
diving board –a first at 69 years of age—during our church swim party at the
town swimming pool. That characteristic
adventurous spirit of my youth asserted itself despite recent years of mild
submission to physical limitations, and surprising everyone, I climbed to the
top of the high waterslide and slid down into a strong current of water. I did need some help making my exit out of
the pool. Spotting me in the act, my
seven-year-old grandson exclaimed, “Grandma is going to kill herself!”
I am on a bit of an unsought
adventure right now as I live on my own.
As I write this piece, I am visiting my son David and his family, wife
Rachel and four-year-old granddaughter Mason, who live on the edge of Grand
Rapids, Michigan. David had come to
Charleston, Illinois—my home—for a fun, helpful visit with family, and I asked
to ride back with him to give him company on the road and to give me company
being with his family. While visiting, he had helped to put a ping pong table
together—a birthday surprise for grandson Henry. David also worked at my house clearing out
some items in the garage and straightening up the back patio. Most importantly, he had rescued me as I had
tried to get my treasured outdoor fountain running once again. Over its 25 years of service, I have
continued to love the soothing sound of the water as it trickles down the two
piece, three level wonder out on our patio just as much as I did when Jim
surprised me with it all set up indoors for a cold, February birthday. We logged many hours sitting out on the patio
together, enjoying the simple pleasures of trickling water and each other’s
company.
It has been a good week here in
Michigan. I have lain on the floor of
the sunroom, watching Mason play and get acquainted with her new neighbor,
six-year-old McKenzie. Utilizing a
three-story playhouse, Mason and I have had some good fun ourselves making the
Barbies and Ken hide and play on all floors.
There has also been a trip to Holland, Michigan, to see the many
beautiful tulips on display there every May during the Tulip Festival. On another day, David and I ventured to a
small piece of lakefront just so I could hear the waves and look out over the
miles and miles of blue water. Trying to
be helpful, I prepared the famous crockpot tomato sauce for two spaghetti
dinners, folded laundry, and entertained Mason although I was the most
entertained. Despite some family
tensions over choosing a means of travel for my return, I have pressed on,
seizing the day and making the trip. The
Carpe Diem philosophy has become more my own after Jim’s sudden death shook us
all, a harsh reminder of the fragility of life.
Tomorrow
I will fly back home by myself with requested assistance from the airline. This solo travel will be the biggest
challenge of the trip, saved for last.
Jim was the one who bridged the gap between what my mobility issues
allow and what is needed for this and other simpler endeavors. Even though now invisible, his presence
remains a part of our family life, no matter where we are. I will continue on with this adventure along
a new and still somewhat unknown path.
A very brave and famous
American woman claimed, “Life is a daring adventure or nothing.” Left without sight, hearing and speech after
an early childhood illness, Helen Keller went on to learn ways of reading and
writing. She achieved more in her
lifetime than many blessed with all their senses. Perhaps her spirit of adventure was partially
what prodded her on to live such a meaningful and productive life. May I venture on partially fueled by that
same spirit.
