The last couple of weeks have been… heavy. As much as I would like every bit of content I share to be positive, that wouldn’t be realistic. Unfortunately, with life comes loss. It’s inevitable. Even when you think you’re well-equipped to handle loss, or have had enough time to mentally prepare yourself for what is coming, it still doesn’t make saying goodbye to someone you love any easier.
We said our final goodbyes to my husband’s grandfather a couple of weeks ago and had his service over the weekend. I’ve been with my husband for nearly 15 years and in that 15 years, I’ve grown to love his grandfather as if he were my own.
A little backstory: my husband has a large, tight-knit family. Forty-three years ago, they began a family tradition—an annual two-week fishing trip at a lake in northern Wisconsin. Today, multiple generations of Mitchells still gather in little cabins along the shoreline for that same two weeks each year.
I come from a pretty small family, so when Doug first asked me to join him on this trip, I was a little intimidated. I had never fished, baited a hook, or stayed in a tiny cabin with minimal amenities (I sound spoiled, I know). But when I say that first trip was life-changing, I’m not being dramatic.
I had never experienced peace quite like the peace I felt in that place. Sitting on the dock with a hot cup of coffee, waves gently sloshing against the shore, birds chirping, pine trees rustling—there was no urgency, no agenda, no fuss. Just unstructured time together. Truly, in this day and age, that feels nearly unheard of. Getting more than 20 family members together year after year—through jobs, kids, schedules, and the chaos of life—is no small feat. I quickly understood why this place was so sacred to my husband’s family. It brought everyone together in the simplest, most beautiful way.
I can only imagine what it must’ve felt like to sit in that lawn chair along the shore and watch the family you created continue to grow. He and his wife loved seeing the littles splash and hop around in the lake. Last summer, Brooks was so excited to show Grandpa Ronnie that he’d caught his first fish all on his own! Some of my fondest life memories have been made on that fishing trip. Card games, corn hole competitions, evenings spent around the fire with s’mores, our “cabana” set-up on the beach, many fish caught (and countless ones missed), I have my husband’s grandparents to thank for this incredible experience- an experience I am grateful to share with my own children.
This loss was significant. It was saying goodbye to someone who gave me something I didn’t know I needed- a family dynamic I was unfamiliar with, but desperately needed. Being the very emotional person I am, I ugly cried through the entire service. Yes, for my own sadness, but I am easily moved by the emotions of those around me.
As if that weren’t enough, we have all been battling the world’s most miserable cold. One minute, my head feels like it’s about to explode and the next my nose is a faucet. My son has terrible cough-variant asthma, so even a minor cold stirs him up. This one has been especially hard. He wanted to participate in his first wrestling tournament, but between the cold and his asthma, he didn’t get the chance to participate. It’s only his second season wrestling, but it was hard seeing how disappointed he was.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve tried to give myself some grace. I’ve said no to unnecessary obligations and focused on filling my cup back up when my emotional and physical tanks are on empty. I’ve opted to stick with yoga as my form of movement, rather than weight lifting or cycling. It is amazing what breath work and a gentle vinyasa can do for me when I’m feeling down. For Christmas, I received this wonderful watercolor painting book. I’m an avid bird-lover (another gift from Doug’s grandparents!), I’ve found this especially relaxing to work on the last few evenings. Ginger tea with lemon and honey has been my warm drink of choice. I’m convinced it helps, at least a little. And this hot/cold headache mask has been a lifesaver for congestion pain.
So often, I try to push through when I am hit with grief, illness, or anything else that makes my internal gauge feel challenged and uncomfortable- which is kind of ironic, considering how much I value presence and intention in daily life. Sitting in discomfort without trying to fix it or rush past it is hard. But I’m learning that it’s okay to not be 100% and give 100% all of the time.
Writing this has been cathartic. Here’s hoping the coming days bring lighter hearts, clearer heads, and the end of what I’m convinced is the world’s most dramatic cold.
-Cayla
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