Last week, I drove to Idaho for the last time in Emma’s undergraduate career. Once again, I broke the trip into two days each way - I’m simply not able to drive 15 hours straight anymore. Not sure I ever could do that, to be honest! At least not by myself. Going up, I stayed the night in Jordan Valley, Oregon. Coming home, I took a different route, staying in Burns, Oregon. In between, I got to see Emma graduate with a degree in rangeland conservation. I got to see Lara and Emma together. I got to enjoy the company of my sister Meri, and her daughter Hanna and her family. I got to see Emma’s logger sports friends and their parents. I got to barbecue tri-tip, leg of lamb, and Basque chorizo for Emma’s logger sports family. At least for me, the weekend was an incredibly happy moment in time.
But the weekend was also bittersweet. We all missed Sami, even though we didn’t discuss it much. During the graduation ceremony when University of Idaho President Scott Green encouraged the graduates to acknowledge their moms (on the eve of Mother’s Day), I teared up - knowing that neither of my girls could do so. One of Sami’s wishes when she knew she was dying was for Emma to graduate from college. I felt the weight of that accomplishment as I watched Emma cross the stage and receive her diploma.
As I’ve experienced during previous trips, leaving the girls was much more difficult than heading out to see them. I’ve always been sad leaving them - when Lara first started college at Montana State University, I wrote that leaving her in Bozeman made me feel like I had a Lara-shaped hole in my heart. I felt that again when I left Moscow on Monday morning. And I felt the Sami-shaped hole in my heart that will always be there. I realized that Emma’s graduation was the first significant milestone that I’ve experienced without having Sami here to share in the celebration.
On Tuesday morning, as I was getting back on the road in Burns, Emma and her boyfriend Karson drove to Fort Collins, CO, where Karson is finishing an engineering degree, and where Emma will start a seasonal range technician job this week. I reflected on my own recent experience with moving to a new home and a new job - how seeing my old life in my rearview mirror was both exhilarating and frightening. And sad. I was glad to be coming home to my new place that evening, but thinking about Emma’s move brought back some difficult memories. Crossing Carson Pass instead of Donner Pass reminded me that I was living in a different place than when Emma started college.
I talked to Sami on my drive home - and not just when I saw redtail hawks. I thought about how my sorrow factored into my new relationships - how hard it might be to my new friends to hear me talk about my relationship with Sami. I thought about how my capacity for caregiving remains low. I missed the girls. I missed Sami.
After we’d all finished our travels, Lara told me she’d put aside her sadness while we were together. I realized I’d done the same - I wanted to celebrate Emma’s accomplishment. And to be happy while we were doing so.
But I also realized that (again) that grief demands my attention eventually. Driving back to work on Thursday, I was incredibly sad. On my 20-minute commute, I realized that I would have preferred to stay home. In bed. Responsibility - maybe resilience? - is a powerful antidote. Or maybe a coping mechanism. I went to work. I was sad all day, but I also got caught up on emails.
As I begin a new week, I’m again exhausted. I’m reflecting on what Sami and I had both hoped for our children - and what I still hope for them. But I’m also cognizant of what it means to be their only living parent. I’m cognizant of my own loneliness (again). I’m aware of how my own capacity for friendship, care, and empathy has evolved.
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