While in Silica Nirvana I had my first truly good days since The Amazing Bob died. You know how fresh widows/widowers, when asked how they're doing, often say "Oh, I have good days and bad?” Yeah…well, prior to this holiday, I'd have occasional not so bad moments, sometimes even a laugh, but the norm had been way more sad and shocky-numb with frequent descents into pits of stone melancholy. There were no good days – just bearable ones.
Drifting in the quiet, peaceful hotel lagoon was magic. My fears and anxieties were utterly stripped away. The immense weight of my grief was lightened. I felt fortified, invigorated and at peace.
I remember thinking, as I rested on the water, that TAB would love the place. Yes, it’d be hell to get him all the way to Iceland and into the water but he’d totally fall in love. We’d have the cats sent over and never leave.
Here at home, during the summer, when his joints were really jolting him, I’d nag him into descending the seawall steps with me. At high tide, we’d sit there with our legs submerged in cool, salty water and just goggle the waves. It was meditative AND the salt water always made his bones feel better.
Good as he felt after our mini soaks, it was still a challenge to get him out of the house and down to the water (which is just across the street!). My handsome man was the quintessential essence of homebodyness.
Remembering this, as I softly glided in the warm lagoon, I smiled. Smiled! The obscene pain of being without him didn’t swamp me. Instead, I felt a peaced out, wistful air. I was able to miss the love of my life without being consumed by the torturous, agonizing loss of him.
Amazing is what this was.
All my other getaways now look, to me, like varying levels of adventuring versus calming, buoying sabbaticals. Yup, I'm SO gonna do this again. Between the stark, raw beauty of the landscape, the gallery hopping in Reykjavik and that wondrous lagoon – well, I'm hooked. This, THIS was a healing tonic. Now to figure out how to ignite that peace here at home.
Another great bit – being outta the country and away from this poisonous political atmosphere – the horror-show theater of it all.