Man, could I use an adventure. Nothing crazy, just some time driving around backroads with my camera. Maybe a road trip. See something new. Do something new. I have an adventure list, but those are big adventures–driving both coasts, driving up one side of Lake Michigan and down the other, setting off on an aunt-visiting circuit–and so much more. Big adventures are summer adventures. For now, I’ll have to settle for small adventures. I don’t mind, though, I just want to go.
There’s something mind-clearing about driving backroads; a simpler, more pure life seems not only possible but logical when I’m on a ride. I love to find new-to-me places, to follow streams and creeks as they turn into rivers, to imagine overlooking that valley each day. Sometimes I find old-growth timber–places we humans have managed to leave alone. More often, I find river bottoms undergoing reforestation. Last year, Coop and I found a pasture of wildflowers. It was a beautiful surprise–a treasure we found by happenstance. That’s the magic of these rides. I never know what I’ll see; even traveling familiar roads, the landscape changes from one day to the next.
Beyond what I can see is what I feel and sense. My mind runs in stream of consciousness mode when I’m on a ride. I probably seem zoned out, but it’s on these rides–these adventures–that I do my best thinking. Maybe my very tame adventures will lead me to some answers, but I’m not too optimistic. Answers are scarce. The answers I covet died in August. I’m more inclined to think (pray) my quiet driving around time will bring some semblance of peace or comfort or acceptance.
There are just so many questions.
I’ll never know why he chose that day. His phone and computer searches made it clear that he’d been thinking about suicide for a while. Did he intentionally wait until I was back in school? I’d like to think so. His time and place guaranteed family would not make that awful discovery. His call to 911 ensured law enforcement would find him within minutes. There are so many things I’ll never know about that day, but I do know he was as considerate as he could be in the situation.
I’ll never know what started his mind’s spiral. Was it the Arizona job he didn’t get? Was it corporate America’s early handling of a pandemic? Was he living with depression that fall and we missed it, or did the trouble start as the world spun out of control in the spring? Did he struggle even before he moved home? I’ll never know. I do know he couldn’t make his mind stop. He was bedeviled by racing thoughts all summer.
I’ll never know if he found the guidance he was searching for when he read Revelation the day before he died. He needed hope and answers and assurance. He needed peace. He was desperate for comfort. I pray he found it.
Soon enough I’ll go in search of my own peace and assurance–my own comfort. I’m working on letting go of the need for answers. If I’m honest, I’ll admit to being nervous about these rides I love. Cooper rode shotgun last year, grateful to be the passenger instead of the driver. We had some of our best talks in the car. When he knew I had to keep my eyes forward–on the road and not on him–he was more forthcoming. Most of what I know of his trip west and his time in the Shawnee I learned by driving and listening.
This year, my backroad wanderings–my very tame adventures–seem like yet another time to miss Cooper. (Sounds like a pity party, but is reality.) I’m sure I’ll talk to him, apologize for not being able to help him, and cry as I drive. Every day brings another time to miss him, but I need these adventures. He’d understand. He’d approve. What could be more Cooper than searching for peace and comfort while seeking adventure?
Woods Writes 