Dreams of Yesterday

Al and I stood on Deck 11 aboard the Celebrity Millennium cruise ship.  This beautiful vessel had been our home for the past seven days.  The air was crisp and cold and a wispy layer of fog surrounded us.  We were in the final days of our Alaskan adventure at sea.  This was a trip that had been on our bucket list for over forty years. 

Back in the early days of our marriage we talked about traveling. We would wait a few years to start a family so we could jet off into the sunset.  We’d pack our bags and be spontaneous.  We’d see the world before settling into parenthood.  This was our Plan “A”.

A few months into our new life as man and wife, we had an “oooops” and Plan “B” quickly went into effect.  I unpacked our suitcases and put away the passports. I took a deep breath as life had different plans for us.  Jet-setting would be replaced by our new roles as mom and dad. 

One by one  we welcomed our four sons, Jason, Brian, Christopher and Kevin.  We reworked the pages of our story as now that was our only choice.  We’d raise the boys then retire early enough to enjoy life while we were still young.   For now we’d do family vacations, focus on more kid-friendly adventures and work on saving to put four kids through college.  Once we fulfilled our duties, we’d begin to plan for our retirement. 

I am a Type “A” personality, a “doer” and I always have a plan.  As Al snored in bed next to me each night, I would make lists in my head of how to make it all happen.  I would create a mental portfolio that would see all our dreams come true.  I worked the numbers in my head of how we’d pay for braces, get the boys through school, pay off the house and have enough cash left to travel first class to all those places I’d seen on that show about the rich and famous.  My dreams were far from reality, but if you’re gonna dream, you gotta reach for the stars.  I allowed my imagination to run wild.

As much as I loved the fantasy, I am also a realist and so I made an appointment with a financial adviser and together we set a plan in motion to have my dreams come to fruition sans the private jet or first class accommodations.  On paper it was feasible.  On paper this plan was infallible.  I went to work, following the instructions for saving and investing.  This was really going to work and I was beyond excited. Nothing would stand in our way. 

As we all know, nothing in life is perfect and we would find that out in the most horrific way.  The call came on a Sunday, March, 2, 2003 at six p.m. That moment is etched in my mind, the emotions that followed engraved on my heart.  Our oldest son was in a car accident and suffered a spinal cord injury.  He had broken his neck and was unable to feel or move anything from the chest down.  In that second,  life stood still.  The walls closed in.  He was paralyzed, and so were we.  I had never experienced that level of helplessness.  

Without warning, our life took a turn where the future seemed bleak and unknown.  Dreams of vacations turned into prayers for miracles.  Saving for spontaneous escapes turned to paying for home modifications and medical expenses.  Jason was in the accident, but all of us were injured.  My only focus was to hold our family together in the face of tragedy. We were warned that such events can have catastrophic effects on family members.  I had but one job, to keep my family from imploding.  Hopes and dreams of a different life, visions of an early retirement all seemed miles out of reach.  The here and now was all that mattered.  

Over the next nineteen years caring for Jason was our commitment, it became our purpose. We still managed to put the other boys through school and they all graduated with straight teeth so the braces worked out as well.  Al and I planned everything we did around our kids and daily life, but soon we’d learn that if you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t take care of anyone else. The everyday pressure of being “on call” for another human takes its toll on your well-being.  Both your physical and emotional health can suffer if you are not careful.  We were so busy caring for Jason that we lost sight of our own needs. We needed to pull back and refocus before it was too late. 

With trepidation, we opened up that box of hopes and dreams and discussed the possibility of going on a trip, of escaping, of re-energizing ourselves.  We knew that we needed time to rediscover “us”.  We needed to have time to be husband and wife, only husband and wife.  We needed to push everyone else out of view and see only each other.  Easier said than done.  The thought of leaving Jason suffocated me and I was encased with fear.  How could I ever feel confident enough to leave him for more than a few days.  The anxiety was crippling but with the help of a wonderful therapist I was convinced that I could do it, she assured me, I would survive.  

The trip took much planning.  There were so many layers that at times it became impossible to manage.  Not only did we need to figure out how we would pay for such an adventure, we needed to choose a ship, book airfare, select excursions and that was the easy part.  Most important of all we needed to secure care for Jason.  Thirteen days of round the clock caregivers was an uphill challenge due to home health agencies being understaffed after the pandemic.  Our embarkation date was quickly approaching and there were still too many details left unsettled. I paced the floor many nights with so many things still up in the air.  A shift in the Universe and the stars smiled on us.  Everything was set.  The countdown had begun and all we needed to do was start packing.  With all the boxes crossed off it looked like it was really going to happen.  We were heading to the Great Frontier.

I did my best to keep my anxiety in check.  Al held my hand throughout the journey and reminded me that Jason would be alright.  My husband of forty years was so kind with my heart as he kept me focused on the positive instead of giving into my fears and worries and thoughts of the “what ifs”.  

As we stood on the deck and sailed through the Hubbard Glacier it was impossible not to be overcome with emotion.  The magnificence, the size, the sounds, the beauty of these massive mounds of ice.  The thundering sound of chunks breaking off and crashing into the water was unlike anything I had ever witnessed.  We snapped thousands of pictures but a photo can not do justice to this level of beauty.  I looked around and saw grown men and women overwhelmed, everyone in awe.   All of us trying to catch our breath at the power of the universe that we were part of.  I could not hold back.  I stood still, frozen in that place, tears streaming down my cheeks like waves crashing into the shore.  It seemed impossible to comprehend all that surrounded me, all that encircled me both inside and out.   I could not stop myself, I hadn’t cried this hard in a long time.

A woman put her arm around my shoulders and said “I know, it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”  I just shook my head.  My tears had nothing to do with the glacier or ice caps or chunks that were floating around us.  I was crying at the memory of two young kids sitting on a sofa forty years ago.  A new husband and wife mapping out their future.  Hopes and dreams of travel and adventure and living a life of magic and wonder.  I was weeping as I thought back to the moment we got that “oops” and the birth of each of our boys.  I cried as I remembered  the moment we almost lost one of those boys.  I sobbed because the two “kids” who promised to love and cherish in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer had absolutely no clue as to what they were promising at the time.  We were stupid, we were in love.  We were promising things we never saw coming. 

Here we stood, forty years older, forty years wiser and with forty years more of life's experiences etched on our souls.  We had dreams, we made plans and while Plan “A” didn’t happen on the timeline we put into place, it happened when it was meant to be.

I took a gulp of my mimosa, I stood at the railing of our beautiful sailing vessel and stared  out at the icy wonder before me.  Each tear that washed over me that day had meaning and each tear that fell held promise.  Beauty and peace was all around me and I was grateful.