Rudderless

     I had planned to write about something different in this post. I almost always have a few different ideas for posts that I draw from each month unless there's something more pressing to discuss. Well, this month, there was something more pressing.

    On the morning of February 19, I called my care receiver for our biweekly check-in. She didn't answer, so I left her a message on her voice mail and sent her a text. I was a bit worried, especially since I hadn't been able to talk to her on the 5th either, but I knew that sometimes she had issues with her phone, so I thought that maybe that was happening again. Unfortunately, that wasn't the problem this time. About an hour later, I got a text from her number saying it was her sister and asking me how I knew her. Before I could respond, the sister called to inform me that she had died a week earlier. 

    I am thankful that though she is gone now, I was able to give her a sense of peace through our relationship. In fact, before the pandemic hit, I was starting to think that we might be getting close to the point where we could end the formal aspect of our relationship and just continue on as friends. Not only did the pandemic rob me of the chance to transition our relationship, but it also denied me the opportunity to see her for the past two years. Much more of our relationship was conducted by phone rather than in-person. We were about to start meeting in person again last year, but she had some health setbacks, and the facility where she was staying following those setbacks had strict rules about who could see her. I never really got the chance to say goodbye.

    In a previous post, I mentioned how I got a sense at our first meeting that being her Stephen Minister was the reason I survived the suicidal thoughts that plagued me when I was 16. Now that she's gone, I no longer have that sense of purpose. It feels as though a large section of my rudder has snapped off, and I'm just trying to steer my life with a lot less power than I'm used to. I know from previous rudder-snapping events in my life, such as getting cut from student teaching, that the missing section will grow back with time, but it's still hard to navigate until it does. 

    The overwhelming loss of directionality I'm feeling now is giving me some insight into why I slipped so easily into having suicidal thoughts after Grandma's death. A ship without a good rudder is easily swayed by passing currents, and Satan was glad to send in the waves of doubt and false narratives. He's even attempted to do so again in the past couple of weeks, but now I can recognize them and avoid them. Even though I feel rudderless, I still have enough of one to keep me going in the right direction.