I’m the kind of person who wails when I cry. After graduating from medical school, my friend chose to spend the next three years in Pennsylvania completing her residency. We said goodbye in her Kansas City apartment complex parking lot. It was not forever but the change of it, the pulling apart of the solid and consistent and beautiful? That nearly did me in. I sobbed until I hiccuped and we drove away with me still weeping and my husband silently rubbing my back, whispering comfort which I ignored because grieving was all my heart knew to do at that moment.
My friend’s son fought cancer and I updated our Austin friends on a regular basis. Women in my Bible study prayed for a preschooler they’d never met. They sent messages to my long distance friend, a mama whose boy was brave, sassy, creative and who hated with a deep passion anything sticky on his soft skin. Then the day came when the family decided to stop fighting and start letting go. I stood in front of my Bible study friends (a group of about 50) and wailed. I could not control myself. I started out speaking English, weeping softly as I explained the decision. By the end the noises coming from my mouth were not human. That’s how I mourn. Hold it together, Lisa Kai. Keep it inside as long as you possibly can and then…I just lose it.
One month ago we sold our house and drove away in a giant, used work truck (an F-250 super duty) towing a 39-foot 5th wheel. I write that sentence and read it repeatedly trying to let the reality sink in but still it does not seem possible. Yet it is. We do not own a piece of a lovely, shaded, well-established neighborhood in South Austin anymore.
We own a camper.
I grieved hard, y’all. My grief came in roaring waves. I couldn’t stop crying at all the last day but just moved through the house attending last minute chores sobbing as I went, a Kleenex my constant companion. I didn’t even try to “get it all out” because the supply of grief was never ending and overflowing. I wallowed in it good and hard and long.
Good grief? Grief is good.
Saying goodbye to the house and neighborhood, saying, “see you in a year or so” to beloved friends—none of it was easy. What’s crazy is that we’ll be back. We have no intention of leaving Austin permanently. However, I’m mourning as a pioneer woman married to a man like Charles Ingalls who just can’t. stop. moving. his. family. The grief took over and I let it for awhile. I let it direct me. I lost sight of the adventure awaiting, of God’s unique and fabulous gift—this time for our family, for exploring, for treasuring up in my heart. The grief felt good and while I wanted it out, I also never wanted to let it go. I wanted my good grief to last and last because it meant I had something to grieve, ya know? I had a blessed life, a good, full existence and mourning it was the right thing to do for a time.
This good grief is over now. Inside I know that this trip will forever change our lives. I grieved for what we had and walked away from but I rejoice in what we walked (or in this case drove in a long, wild road trip) to. When we go home to Austin we will be different people and our children will be different. God’s given us this difference and provided this adventure (for however long it lasts and wherever it takes us) and I’m ready. Or I’m not ready but I’m holding tightly to His hand and the season of good, purging grief is finished.
What’s next, Lord?
You guys are so brave to do what you are doing! I too shuddered every time Pa walked in and started talking about how things were getting too settled around them. I had two big moves before I really remembered them and then the one terrible move to Texas right before the 7th grade. Shudders! All my subsequent moves to college and to the coast were all easily “undone” whenever I wanted. Your leap of faith is just that, a leap. God will catch you with his open arms, but the leaping part is hard. I 1/2 envy you and am 1/2 terrified by your bravery. God will bless your travels and faithfulness.