Widow's Voice

The Miles Under Me~

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I walked down 15 steps on that long ago day that was both yesterday and years ago,

3 weeks after your death.

I carried my suitcases. Your suitcase. All the assorted bags carrying all our worldly belongings.

I gently placed the urn carrying your cremains in the passenger seat. It felt warm to the touch.

I sat in that passenger seat during our 4 years of adventures, your hand on my knee, me watching your profile in between gazing out at the country opening up around us.

You’ve been with me for 7 years now, as I’ve sat in the driver’s seat, touring the country alone.

The miles adding up under my wheels.

Before you died we talked about me in the after. How it might be for me. I tried to keep it light, telling you that maybe I’d wear dramatic black widow’s weeds, a delicate veil blowing in the breeze.

You told me I can’t see, nor do I want to see, you wearing black. It isn’t flattering to you in any way. It’s too heavy a color for you. You know what color you need to wear. And I responded Yes. I’ll be stunning in pink. I promise.

I’ve kept my word, D. I wear pink and I surround myself with pink. I’ve added orange into the mix; your favorite color.

I know you were intentional in each of your words to me.  You wanted me to have color around me to help keep me in the light. To keep me from drowning in the dark pool waiting for me.

You always looked out for me, D. You cherished me, and I felt so cherished. You respected me and you admired my chutzpah. You knew me. That’s why you gave me this mission and set me on my Odyssey. You knew I was the kind of woman to need a mission after your death. You knew me well, and you knew I’d make something powerful of it all.

The miles I’ve traveled on this Odyssey…the miles that started out with the mission you gave me, the mission that grew to become my Odyssey of Love…my rig is still eating up those miles.

You’ve traveled with me over some really tough miles. The road beneath my wheels is, in turn, bumpy, filled with potholes, teeth jarring, stomach aching and, at the same time, I’ve learned to literally stop and smell the flowers I discover along the way…sometimes in the deep reaches of Texas, or along a country road in New England, and in the humid air of a southern summer. As much as I’m able, I strive to create beauty around me and show up with Love wherever I am.

I miss you sitting next to me, my dearest Love. I miss your hand on my knee and your smiling glances over at me, eyes glinting with Love. Sometimes you’d wink at me, warming my heart, and I’d smile back at you.

Keep your hands on the wheel with mine, ok?

We’ve got many more miles to go~

 

 

About Alison Miller

My beloved husband Chuck died while we were full timing on the road. We’d rented a condo for our stay in southern CA, and I had to leave 3 weeks after his death. All I knew at that time was that I had to find a way to continue traveling on my own, because settling down without him made me break into a cold sweat. I knew that the only place I’d find any connection to Chuck again was out on the roads we’d been traveling for our last 4 years together. I knew nobody out on the road, I knew grief was a great isolator, and I knew I had to change the way I traveled without him, to make it more emotionally bearable for me. So I bought a new car, had a shade of pink customized for it, bought a tiny trailer and painted the trim in pink, learned how to tow and camp, and set out alone. My anxiety was through the roof, and all I knew to trust was the Love that Chuck left behind for me. I found Soaring Spirits early on, thank god, and the connections I made through SS helped ground me to some extent. I needed to know that other widow/ers were out there in my world, because I felt so disoriented and dislocated. Through Soaring Spirits, as the miles added up, my rig taking me north, south, east and west, I found community. I found sanity…or at least I learned that if I was bat shit crazy, I was in good company, and realizing that ultimately saved my sanity. PinkMagic, my rig, is covered with hundreds of names of loved ones sent to me by my widowed community, and I know it isn’t visible to the naked eye, but I’ll let you in on a secret…she actually illuminates Love as I drive down the many roads in our country, and I can see it through my side view mirror. Love does, indeed, live on~

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