After My Spouse Died I Developed a New Sense of Direction

How does that work?

Ask any one of my three sons, and in minutes they’ll come up with multiple tales of Mom-getting-lost: the time I drove right by the ice arena (and did it a second time, too); the time I took the left when I should have known to take the right. But hey, it was dark. And sometimes I forget that left is right and right is left. Being left-handed and all…

Lost in Space

How many times did we show up at the out-of-town ice arena late or too close to being late? Which is okay… unless you’re the mother of the goalie.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” I can still hear their voices. They always knew.

Whether or not they’ll admit to it now, my boys were quickly on board when Dad was driving someplace new, and not Mom. Dad drove like a bird with a large compass in its brain. Even if he did get turned around, he always knew how to find the right road again. And when he did, he knew whether to turn left or right and where was north and south.

The Sense of Direction I was Born With

If my father drove somewhere in 1974, in 2010 he could find his way back there. Such was his inner compass. So I — theoretically — must have the genes. But my mother’s set effectively quashed his; she could go off-course just driving around the block surrounding their home.

As a young driver, it was rare I drove to a destination I was not familiar with. And for years after leaving home, I did not have access to a car. Then I did have a car, and later children who needed to go places. By that time it seemed too late to acquire this mysterious thing known as “sense of direction.”

Eventually, I and my family just accepted this, and printed up a binder full of maps. I was an early recipient of a GPS system, a Christmas gift — which I never could figure out how to work. The best course of action seemed to me to be “leave early” — leave really early.

And then…

I was only 51 when my spouse became ill and passed away. I not only had a teen-aged son to drive around, but I had to teach him how to drive.

Fortunately — and don’t take this for granted — we had not done a lot of labor division; that is, I had grown up in a family of carpenters, and I’d always been the one to wield a saw and hammer. I’d built the family treehouse and the raised garden beds and the window seat for reading. I’d changed the light bulbs and painted the walls.

But I’d not put oil in the car or filled tires. There was most definitely an automotive theme to my knowledge gaps. And there came a day when I had to drive someplace unfamiliar, and make a choice to turn.

I panicked.

At that point, it had been several months since he passed. I’d had a number of moments of choice and questions and what-would-Marty-do?

My mind blank, I took a breath… and I forced myself to THINK. Really… what direction?

Right, I decided. I turned and after several blocks realized I’d made the right choice.

Wow. Really? Really. How did I know that?

Guts and Magnets

I drove on with a feeling of having stumbled into something quite new; I’d had a moment of just giving in to my gut. What direction was my gut directing me to go?

I’d listened to my gut all through my spouse’s illness.

Most of the time I’d made good decisions. In the last months of his illness, I’d been terrified to put together a memorial service, but when the time came I did, and again my gut served me well.

But in that moment of taking the right turn, it was as if it had been trained over all those months. No, it wasn’t that. My gut had always been there. I was just — finally — listening.

I still get lost. I still don’t pay enough attention, but I am learning to listen. I have discovered an inner source of self-reliance. Gut? What way?

Me and my gut, going places.