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  • Writer's pictureKatie Beucus

Our Greatest Adventure Yet

This summer the kids and I set out on what would be an epic summer vacation/road trip. Me, two kids, and 43 other friends/family off to make memories that last a lifetime. It was everything I hoped it would be and even better than either of the kids could have imagined.

And still, I've been having a really hard time continuing a recap of our trip and I couldn’t really peg why. I think I’ve decided it’s guilt.

Guilt for my good health.

Guilt for the free mobility of my body and its ability to swim and cliff jump and hike and paddle board and sleep on a camp mat for 11 nights with minor aches and pains.

Guilt for getting to watch my kids grow and thrive and be adventurous.

Guilt for being happy.

For experiencing deep and genuine joy again.

To feel a spark of life coming back in my soul that was dampened with worry and anxiety and grief when Aaron started to get sick almost 22 months ago, through, and after his death.

I want grasp it and just run. I don’t want to miss or waste a second of my life and I know full well Aaron wouldn’t want me to either.

I always tried to put on a brave face, to be steadfast and strong but I know Aaron saw through me as he looked into my eyes red and swollen from crying alone in a corridor so many times. As he engaged in conversations with me and physicians about end of life care, and preparing our children and my ability to care for him through transition and to the very end as I promised.

There are photos on his phone he took of me, vacantly staring out the hospital window as we watched sunset after sunset in November. I know it was hard for him to watch me worry. To see my spirit and body weakened too by the battle he was fighting. We were fighting.

And so I’ve set out to live. And this trip was a huge part of that. And yet guilt has cast its shadow. I know this is normal and I know I will get to the other side. To live without the guilt. But for now, like all the other phases I’ve already traveled through, I’ll sit with it.

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1 comentário

19 de jul. de 2023

This is a marathon Katie, not a sprint. It takes time. You’re right… sit with it. Embrace it. Breath it in and hold it. Then slowly let it go. Every new breath will have a little bit of the old breath. That’s good grief. He’ll always be there but you’ll breathe new breaths every day. Life. It does march on. You’re doing a great job. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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