In the Woods

So Tim asked me to go on a walk this morning. I was thinking we'd go on the bike path or out in a neighborhood. Instead, he took me to some parkland in our town consisting of deep woods and a creek. We got further and further into the woods, so far that I figured he either wanted to make out with me or murder me and hide the evidence. Turns out he wanted to walk and talk.

As you may know, the past few days have been rough. Thanksgiving? Oh my goodness. That's really all I can say about that.

The bottom line is that while I KNOW Jack is in a better place, and I believe he wants me to share the TRUTH with you, that life does not end when the body does, I want him alive and well and eating tacos in THIS place. MY place. Right now.

One of the things that has sustained us over these weeks as we drive through our town are the royal blue ribbons on trees, schools, mailboxes, cars, and fence posts telling us that our community cares and has not forgotten Jack. The blue ribbons feel like a hug to me each time I see them.

As we walked deeper into the dense woods today I thought, "I hate this so much! What a freakin' waste! Everyone is going to go on with life and forget about Jack. I wish there was a blue ribbon out here." Less than 2 minutes later, I saw this: a deflated royal blue balloon and a ribbon dangling from a tree, right in front of our faces.

Wow. Wow. Wow. Thank you, God. I needed that sign. That love. That hug. Maybe you, sweet friend, need it too. Because this is all so hard.

Harder still because as we twisted and turned this way and that in the woods, we ended up having to cross over the stupid creek no fewer than 4 times. The creek that somehow connects with our shitty neighborhood creek. I was just not ready for that yet.

In a Mars/Venus situation that would seem comical if there were anything funny about seeing a 42 year old woman sobbing through the brambles and underbrush, the very setting that Tim hoped would be peaceful for us was torture for me. Torture. Each twist and bend in the deep, dry creek bed brought horrible images to my mind. I couldn't quit sobbing.

When we had almost stumbled back to civilization, we found the swing Jack and Margaret used to play on when we would take them geocaching down there. The swing, the spooky tunnel with dirty words written inside, and finally, the bike path were all within reach.

I tell you about the ribbon in the middle of the woods to encourage you, just as you have encouraged me by sharing the signs you have seen. The dreams, visions, songs on the radio-- the rainbows and incredible sunsets on numerous Thursday nights at the exact time of the accident.

And we won't feel greedy asking for more signs, more assurance, more comfort will we? No. Because we are sad. And we are slow learners. And God is patient. And so is Jack.