In 2019, I’m following the trip that Mike took to Coffman Cove on his own for the very first time. Same road, same ferry. In the final process of divorce after being married over half his life, he was setting out into a brand new world. He was going home, following his dream. Michael was starting over at almost 60 years old. In the process, he was leaping off the roof, trusting his cape.
Sitting in the ferry line on Friday, I saw a sign. It was a paw – and the line “who rescued who?” That was us.
Mike and I started as friends. During his long journey from marriage to divorce, I talked him through the grieving stage. In the process, I talked myself through it, too. All the words that I said to Mike about grief and moving forward – it took a minute, but I finally realized they also applied to me.
I had been stuck since Al died. I’d done none of the basic grief work that has to be done in order to get back to life. But in talking with Mike, I realized I was working on myself, too. And I couldn’t coach it without believing it.
I never dreamed that Mike and I would be anything more than friends. But the trust we developed – working through some of the most difficult times we’d ever faced – bound us together slowly but surely into love.
Mike helped me as much as I helped him. He gave me the courage to clean out Al’s closet five years after he died. Mike gave me the courage to just “let it go”, to throw away or sell some of the mountain of family items that were (and are) overwhelming me. In me, Mike broke the generations-long tie to “stuff”. It will never mean the same to me again.
In every phase of my life, Michael gave me the courage to walk to the edge of the roof, put one foot into space, and leap. He was part of my cape – and I knew he’d always catch me – and he knew I’d always catch him. We had each other’s backs.
And here I stand on the edge of the roof again. Heading for Mike’s dream – our dream that we’ve worked so hard on bringing to life. Powell’s Place in Coffman Cove. Praying that I can do this without Mike. Sitting here on the ferry, it’s starting to look familiar. Not quite SE AK yet, but getting close.
Home is just about half a day away. Getting ready to jump. Trusting that cape – and Mike’s waiting arms – at 62.
At 62 