Zipline

Dan strung a zipline for the kiddos today from the oleanders at the edge of their property all the way to the corner of the barn. Will and Jules and Allie and eventually Dan and Katy all took a seat and hung onto the handles for dear life while they screamed across the backyard, hair blowing wildly, until they bounced to a stop at the other side. They vacillated between huge grins and huge eyes while their bodies hurtled through the air, suspended on a thin, metal cable secured from trees to the roof. 

It looked like every kid and grownup kid’s dream.

“Farm life is great, isn’t it?” I commented to Katy while she and I stood at the edge of the jungle gym spotting the other zipliners in case they came too close to a wooden platform there. Katy agreed with a smile.

I wished Rob had been there to enjoy it with me. He and Dan had planned to run a zipline in the backyard of our Heber house between the enormous pine trees spaced out there in the woods. Just another re-alignment life handed us all. I couldn’t help but think of how much he’d have gotten a kick out of all the fun our grandkids were having.

“Are you watching this?” I questioned in my heart, while my frustration at all the layers of loss shaded my thought. Surely, through that thin veil he could see what the kiddos were doing. I could picture the big smile on his face and hear his laughter in concert with theirs.

“I’m right here beside you, Babe,” came the immediate reply to my spirit.

It took my breath away, even more than the zipline was doing to the kids flying past me. I knew he was there, watching them, watching me laugh as they rushed by. The answer was clear, distinct. Comforting. Surprising. My eyes swam and I choked back the evidence, putting on a big smile as Will soared past.

I guess it might sound crazy to believe Rob’s spirit communed with mine outside here tonight. It so easily could have just been my brokenhearted imagination dreaming up what he’d have said to me if he stood beside me in the flesh. But I know of no reason why he couldn’t see what the rest of the neighborhood could only hear as the kids hooted and yelled in delight. We’re surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, the Bible says. What makes me think they only fill that heavenly amphitheater when something more spiritual is happening, like a battle against temptation or a revival, and not just kids being happy and a grieving wife watching?

Sometimes the things that break my heart are all about what Rob is missing since he left us in February. The hilarious Dare Devil videos my son’s three kiddos are posting on YouTube. The piano concerts here, comic strips his grandkids draw, the puppet shows, his dog romping under the trees, our son and his wife leading their church back to normalcy while their hearts are still hurting, the way our daughter and son-in-law are supporting me and each other. And me, surviving here with my heart in pieces, but still, surviving.

We’re doing it. Getting up every morning. Facing the day, whether with tears or a smile or both, but facing each new one as they come. Holding each other. Moving forward whether we feel like it or not. “Crushing it,” my daughter said to someone who wanted to know how her mother is doing. Even while our hearts are broken, we’re all crushing it.

So, when I throw out the desire heavenward that Rob can watch while life hands us the gift of a delightful moment in this time of heartache, it’s a miracle of hope to believe that he can. And does. It’s just that believing my spirit can still commune with his sometimes feels as precarious as putting your faith in a narrow, metal cable while you’re hurled across space, your heart in your throat, trusting you’ll survive the flight.

“I’m right here beside you, Babe.”

Maybe he’s not missing it after all.

Maybe it’s just that we’re missing him.

With thanks to My Photo Journeys for permission to use the beautiful photo above. The original can be viewed at the following link: Zipline at sunset | My Photo Journeys | Flickr