My drive early in the morning was a bit scary for me, because it was so dark and no matter what I did with my windshield wipers or defroster, I felt like I could not see well enough to stay safe. The roads were unexpectedly slushy in the southern parts of Vermont, completely different from the roads near my house. I experienced a few very uncomfortable minutes (that felt like an hour) when I was trying to pass a HUGE tractor/trailer at the wrong time. The road began to curve, and it kept curving. I felt too close to the giant vehicle to safely pass. I was in the left lane, right next to it, but there were cars directly behind me and the tractor/trailer. It was so dark and I was afraid of going off the road if I didn't steer precisely enough. Headlights from traffic in the opposite direction flashed in my face and the slush of the highway sprayed in my windshield. I was going too slow, especially for being in the left lane and on the Interstate, and I was stuck in this clump of traffic that I had now created. I knew all the other drivers must be furious with me. I was probably the only one scared, the only one not confident enough to just speed up a little and pass the tractor/trailer already.
I prayed because even though I was not happy about driving in the dark like this, I still knew I had to get to you. There was no turning back now. So I asked God to give me the strength to pass the tractor/trailer so I could get back in the right lane and let the other drivers behind me go. I deliberated but, eventually, I was able to pass! I felt such a huge relief. I also felt silly, embarrassed, and ashamed. What was the big deal? Why was I so fearful? Why couldn't I just have the confidence that every other driver has, in the daylight or not? I was very disappointed in myself, and felt like a child in that moment.
But I think you would understand, Ellie. You know I wanted to be there for you and I had to make it to Connecticut alive. I had to participate in the Mass and meet your family and friends, and hear what they had to say about you. So I reassured my conflicted parts that by waiting to pass the truck, I was making what I thought was the best choice for my safety. I did not want to cause an accident for myself or for anyone else. I did not want to jeopardize saying goodbye to you. And you know what? After I passed that tractor/trailer, I continued on my journey and, though it took longer than I thought, the sky eventually grew lighter and lighter, and so did my mind and heart. I knew I was still on the right path, and that perseverence had been key.
I felt victorious as I drove to you with patience and peace. It was empowering to be in that car alone (well, you were there, but you know what I mean) and drive the long distance with a real purpose. When I was approaching Coventry, I made a mistake and took the wrong road. I began feeling anxious as I looked at the clock. I could not be late to your funeral. No way, that was not an option. So I paid attention to the signs on the road. I paid attention to how long I was driving until I knew for sure that I was going the wrong way. Then I pulled into a side street and paused to gather myself. I looked at the map on my phone, and studied where my blue dot was in relation to where I needed to be. Okay, I thought, I just need to turn around and get back to where I was. I hoped I had enough time, though.
I finally made it to the correct road and was heading toward the church, but you know what? (I'll tell you this even though you were probably laughing at me from the passenger seat the whole time.) I drove right past the church! It was on the opposite side of the road from what I had been expecting. I couldn't believe it. I was so annoyed with myself. But, as you know, when I pulled into the church driveway, a nice man told me where to park, and I entered St. Mary's with ten or more minutes to spare. Whew!
I even had anxiety about whether I should stay for the cemetery part and the restaurant gathering. I knew that no one there knew me personally (except from reading my other blog entry and contacting me on Facebook about it), and I felt like maybe I was intruding. But I went to the cemetery, where I listened to a friend of yours from treatment read a beautiful piece she had written. Then I watched your mother release the balloons that spelled out ELLIE into the air; they flew up, up, and away to who knows where. I wanted to follow them to you. It broke my heart to not be able to see where they went. But I knew their brilliant colors would keep them safe.
I turned away from your coffin to leave the cemetery but I heard someone call my name, and...well, you know the rest.
P.S. I blew you a kiss from my car as I passed your coffin on the way out; did you catch it?
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