If someone would have told me 20 years ago that I'd be flying to Tucson to meet up with my sister and attend my stepdaughter's wedding after my husband's death, I'd have asked what they were smoking. But that's exactly what I did.
Honestly, I had been dreading the trip, because I knew just how hard it would be without John. But I couldn't have missed it. I asked my sister to fly in, both for moral support, and for a mini vacation for the two of us. I wouldn't have made it through the weekend without her.
Thursday's travel was a complete cluster fuck from the start. But, since John died three months ago, almost nothing has been easy or gone off without some sort of colossal hitch. So, as I walked through the airport cussing under my breath, I figured it was just par for my current course. After hours of delays, I finally arrived in Tucson at midnight, a mere eight hours late.
As I got dressed for the Saturday evening wedding and did the last-minute wrapping of the afghan I made for Liz and Charlie, my anxiety was building. A brief backstory on the blanket. On February 21, John's birthday, I drove 80 miles to Eugene for a shopping and "me" day. I wanted to be alone, I needed clothes for the wedding, and I needed yarn for the wedding blanket. I spent 20 minutes in a very small local yarn store trying to find just the right color and texture yarn. I was about to give up when I spotted some greenish yarn in a basket by the front door. I knew they both like green, and it was a luxuriously soft merino wool. It wasn't until I started working it up the next day that it ended up looking like a camouflage Army blanket. I started laughing. I bought the yarn on John's birthday to make a gift for his daughter, so of course it was looking like an Army blanket. It definitely didn't have a wedding vibe, but it was perfect for her. I know John had a hand in it.
The wedding was at Catalina State Park in Tucson, a beautiful setting against the backdrop of the Catalina mountains. My sister and I arrived early and sat in the car waiting for people to arrive. I saw my stepson Tom walking up the road and didn't recognize him at first in his cowboy duds. The stiff blue jeans and cowboy hat weren't his style. As we stood near the car talking, I saw Liz drive up in John's truck. That was the first of many times I fought back tears. I had only a few minutes with Liz before the wedding. She looked stunning, of course, and I hoped we both wouldn't break down when we hugged. Most of the evening I felt like I was outside myself looking in, there but not there, present and absent at the same time. I'm sure I came across as distant, but I was just trying to survive the evening.
Kaia, a longtime friend of Liz's, officiated the ceremony. As she talked about her history with Liz, I wondered if she'd bring up John. No sooner had I wondered, than she did. Then she said, "Where's Jill?" I was seated in the front row. That's when Kaia lost it and had to take a moment. I fought back tears as I heard a person behind me crying. When she continued, she described Liz's good qualities and I realized she was describing John. Liz's even temperament, strength and steadfastness are all qualities I admired in John. Somehow I still managed to keep the tears at bay. Liz started her vows to Charlie and told him why she loves him. She, too, was describing John's qualities. I couldn't stop the tears any longer. Cathy was patting my leg. Tom was patting my shoulder. I wanted to run, hide, and sob behind a cactus.
After the ceremony, Kaia gave me a long hug and said how happy she was I was there. Another longtime friend of Liz's came up to me and said she was happy I could make it. I met Charlie's parents, who John had the pleasure of meeting several times before but I had not. John always had glowing things to say about them, about how they adored Liz and John's grandson, Felix. Liz doesn't talk to her mother, who John always referred to as Plaintiff, and I'm very glad she has parents now that John is gone. I believe Charlie is her "person" and am hopeful they will have a long and happy marriage.
Although it had only been six months since I'd seen Felix, he didn't appear to recognize me. At nearly six years old, and without John by my side and without context, he didn't know me. I don't know what my relationship with Tom, Liz, Felix and Dolly will look like without John. I've always gotten along with his kids, but we haven't been close. I've gotten closer to Liz in the past year, but I still feel a disconnect and maybe that's how it will always be. She is settling into marriage, parenthood, a career she loves, and thanks to some life insurance money, home ownership is on her horizon. I don't know where or if I'll fit into her life. I'm learning to be okay with that.
Our time outside of the wedding evening included doing touristy things to show my sister the beauty of Tucson, eating Mexican food, driving past old houses and haunts. Only about a hundred times over the weekend did I think, "Oh, I need to tell John about that," or "John would love that."
I was happy to get on the plane to get away from Tucson. I had a witchipoo moment where I thought this would be my last trip to the desert. It seemed like one more thing I have to say goodbye to. That's all I've done in the past three months. Losing John set off an avalanche of goodbyes. I moved out of a house I didn't love, but it had been home for nine years. I'm learning to let go of the life we had, the things we enjoyed doing together which I'll probably never do again, the meals we enjoyed that now hold no flavor, the person I was inside a marriage, and the future we won't have. I watched married couples my age on the airplane, and it set off another grief storm when I realized just how alone I am in this world. Somehow, I have to learn to be okay with all of that. I held John's flannel shirt close to my heart as I watched the prisms of light dance from the sun hitting the diamond in my wedding ring, and watched Tucson disappear below me.
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