We love a road trip of any kind. Given where we live, that’s a good thing, as a run into town for groceries, a medical appointment, a church gathering, dinner with friends, or a run to the county transfer station to drop off recycling and garbage constitutes a road trip. Heading down the road, we make our way to whatever the destination, together. On any given day we take turns, one the driver, the other serving as co-pilot, and have given each other strict orders to weigh in. We expect the copilot to alert the driver of an elk sighting, a beautiful tree, a breathtaking view, and of course, any impending danger. Something that might be out of the driver’s view, or that simply escaped their notice.
In other words, we are a team.
Ever since his open-heart surgery, I’ve been without a co-pilot. Relegated to the back seat to protect his still- healing sternum, not to mention his still-recovering heart from a potential airbag deployment, he spends most of his time gazing out the window. Or nodding off. Which he does. A lot. As he should. Because healing a body takes more energy than most of us can possibly imagine.
When it comes to getting us from here to there, until further notice from his heart surgeon, I’m the designated driver, which I’m finding to be kind of a lonely job. One that is giving me the opportunity to practice navigating the road alone. Not just the road beneath the wheels of our trusty rig, but the inner road on which we travel as partners. It is a familiar road that is always new, and we look to one another to point out what the other might miss, shed light on what is hidden in the other’s blind spots, and to alert each other to any dangers to this relationship on which we depend and have come to trust, come what may. For now, he doesn’t have much energy to put into much of any of that, which is where the lonely part comes in. It feels like I’m on my own up in the front seat, hands on the wheel, and eyes on the road. It feels like I’m all alone until I look in the rear view mirror, and see him asleep yet again. And then I remember.
His job is to heal and regain his inner and outer strength.
Mine is to drive the car that will get us there.
In other words, we are still a team.
