In Alaska, there is a word for this time of year. This awkward time of year when the cumulation of seven months' worth of snow and ice begin to melt, revealing layers of road salt and gravel and people's long forgotten debris. When Alaska seems to be shyly hiding her true beauty behind a thick layer of grey and grit.
Alaskans call it "breakup."
My first Alaskan breakup happens to be a most bitter one.
Because it comes at a time when something else is breaking up for me.
My marriage of 15 years.
Two months ago, the only man I have ever loved left me.
The grey outside seems to be a reflection of my heart these days, as I struggle to come to terms with the whys and the hows. It turns out, everything we've dreamed about and worked towards for 15 years is simply not what he wants anymore. I am not what he wants anymore.
How to deal with such deep loss and raw pain is new territory for me; territory I must somehow navigate tentatively, armed only with my faith.
But experiencing my first Alaskan breakup has given me hope. Because with the ugly greyness comes a promise, a hope of things to come. The sun is lingering a little longer in that great Alaskan sky these days, promising long sunny days ahead. Waking up in the cold every morning can make it easy to forget what summer feels like, but it is coming, whether I remember its' warmth or not.
I cling desperately to the hope that things will be better for me, too.
That one day I will feel joy and peace again.
It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I write this final post to a blog that has chronicled such family love and joy and peace. It is a difficult chapter to close. But I have four rays of summer sunshine who will forever give me reason to be happy, and I know that a lifetime of new adventures with them awaits me.
