Roy has been dead for 471 days; my journey on the glass bridge to widowhood continues. The crossing is predictable now. Some grief therapists would say that I have reached an “emotional turning point.” I think about our life together everyday, but I am beginning to rediscover who I am without my life partner. I am beginning to carve a new life. My “new normal” is slowly emerging. I just completed my first trip abroad without him; I travelled to Scotland. Roy and I had planned a cooking trip to Spain, that trip was never to be. The airline gave me the option of using the ticket I had purchased with a date restriction. I had to travel somewhere in Europe before July 31, 2015. My criteria were simple:
1. Somewhere I had never travelled to previously
2. Scheduled after the end of spring quarter
3. A country in Europe where I would not have a major language challenge, thus Scotland became the destination; it was a good decision.
Scotland has never been on my list of must see places however since the country met my criteria, off to Scotland I went. Roy had traced his paternal ancestry to Scotland having done extensive research on the Clan Hay, and had visited the ruins of his Scottish ancestor’s original home in Aberdeen, Scotland. Connecting to his connection made the trip more fitting and meaningful.
We had talked about joining a tour group when we got older; that time has come earlier than we had planned now that I am a single traveler. I signed up for ‘A Taste of Scotland’ with Road Scholars, trip details handled by some one else and nothing to think about except meeting the group in Glasgow. A deep sadness rattled my heart at the realization that Roy and I will never travel on earth together again. Each time I boarded an airplane, train, or bus I sat next to a stranger. I miss my travelling partner! Roy had the layout of certain airports in his head, like Schiphol in Amsterdam. I found myself frustrated on my journey, wishing that I had paid more attention to travel details. ‘Ok, right,” I said to myself, “in Schiphol we go through customs twice on the way back to the States.”
Traveling was one of the main ways we connected both of us loved the excitement of discovering something new but each bringing different interests in travel that we shared. At the end of the day we would talk about our experiences and discoveries, relax together and enjoy a Mediterranean sunset on the Côte d’Azur, a snowstorm in the Swiss Alps, or the mingled smells of ocean and curry in countries like Malaysia and India. Roy was passionate about maps and history; he carried in his head the lay of the land, the detailed history of our destinations, and an intricate knowledge of geological formations. I love learning about people, culture, and language. I would be the one who knew the phrases if we were in a non-English speaking country, what to wear, and local customs so as hopefully not to be “An ugly American.” (Though there is really no way around this). He would navigate us to out of the way places and find the local establishments and restaurants. We both liked to avoid the tourist traps and searched for as authentic experiences as possible. I kept track of the purchases and receipts careful not to go over the declaration limit. “You do most of the shopping! He would say, “So you keep track of the receipts!” We were a good travel team and had no problem doing separate activities and meeting up later in the day. Letting go of those times continues to be heart wrenching. At the end of the day in Scotland, my new normal was to have a drink (sometimes tea, and sometimes a glass of wine or a scotch), with my travel companions in the hotel bar and then go off to my room alone.
As I carve out my new life I am deciding which activities I want to continue as a single person. Travelling on a tour with older adults was a safe way for me to discover that I still want to experience new places and explore the gifts of people and planet. The company is guaranteed, dining companionship, sightseeing buddies, and logistics organized. It is a good way to re-start.
In Oban, I had a vivid dream of Roy standing at the foot of my bed. He was wearing his red plaid shirt, jeans, trademark hat and hiking boots smiling at me. “Your doing good hon,” he said. Then like a candle flickering in the Scottish wind he disappeared.