Brave Enough To Be Bliss

I had booked the hotel solely based on how it looked on the Southwest ® website. While I’ve been there many times, I’m not familiar enough with the Phoenix area to know where anything is from only an address. I took an Uber there and, on the way, recognized the general direction we were heading and some of the exit sign names along the drive. But it was about 45-60 minutes from the airport so that far out I thought it must be somewhere I hadn’t ever been. We turned into what looked like a residential area, so I was confused and a little nervous, but then tucked away in the neighborhood was the entrance to the resort. I walked out to the pool and patio area and then I saw the fountain. The resort overlooked Fountain Hills, which was very near the home owned by the surgeon who encouraged us to join the golf club. He told us we could stay there during our spring break trips. We had enjoyed our stays there immensely, so it was such a great feeling to be somewhere that felt familiar. I

would know what grocery store to go to and seeing the fountain gave me such a sense of peace and calm. It helped me feel more secure knowing where I was and that I had been there before. I know that’s why I wrote what I did to Ginger about God’s hand being at work in this. I believed I had not only received a nudge to go ahead and book the entire trip, but to specifically select that particular hotel because He knew I would need every ounce of peace and calm for that first night when Kylee was staying alone.

And as I wrote that last sentence, I realized something huge was missing in what I wrote to Ginger. Why didn’t I mention anything about my fear the first night when Kylee was home alone?

The fact that I didn’t write anything about it is so strange to me because that’s what I remember most about the entire trip. The fear that she would choose to end her life and that I had made the conscious decision to leave her there by herself. Sure, Ginger and I had talked about the fact that on any day, at any time, she could make that choice and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. That I really had no control over her choice to live or die. That I couldn’t hover over her every hour of every minute of every day trying to make sure she would stay alive. Logically all that made sense and I understo od it in my brain, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t one of the hardest decisions I had ever made in my life and that it wasn’t tearing me up inside. That didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified that I had made the wrong decision. I can remember feeling that way becau se it was completely overwhelming…and yet, I didn’t mention it. I can see now that I was able to compartmentalize so completely that I simply didn’t allow myself to feel the reality of any of it. And if I didn’t feel it or acknowledge it to the outside world, I could survive it. I had a lifetime of experience not feeling what I felt, so I focused solely on the task in front of me, the instructions Ginger had provided, the list of things I needed to accomplish while I was there in order to achieve the goal. I stayed in my brain and simply didn’t feel the terror, which is why there was no need to write about it. Staying in my brain and not feeling anything kept me from curling up in a corner of that hotel room sobbing uncontrollably, because that’s how my brain had been protecting me for over 50 years. It didn’t matter if I didn’t want to live, I did what I was supposed to do, and I simply didn’t feel any of it. That was how I survived, so this would be no different. I would do what I had to do and that meant feeling no feelings, writing no feelings, just getting through the day and night until, I hoped I heard she was OK. And then after communicating with her later that day, you may recall I calmly wrote, “I cried for a little while after this...not exactly sure why. Sometimes I am just so very sad.” And now reading it five years later, all I can say is, W…T…F…, who wouldn’ t cry?!?! And wonder who the hell I was back then.

“Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change.” Tony Robbins

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