Do You Know the Way to New Hope?

It wasn’t until the night before we left for our weekend getaway that I realized the obvious irony of the plan we had made. We were going to a town called New Hope. We weren’t aiming for irony…scheduling this past weekend’s escape was an act of rebellious self-preservation…since we can’t afford a real vacation right now, we figured a weekend away, even if we could barely afford that, would bring some much needed peace, allow us to feel like the young vibrant couple we supposedly are, despite the crushing weight of the sorrow we now carry. But yes, we could use some new hope too.

We arrived late morning, dropping our bags at the B&B that was to be our home for the evening, and set off in search of the path, the tow path that runs along what was once the Delaware canal. Finding the access point, we set off in the direction we thought (hoped) was town, looking forward to a walk, and possibly lunch.

Twenty minutes into our walk we realized we hadn’t even bothered to ask how far we were from town, how long it would take or even definitively whether we were heading the right direction. What had started as a well-maintained gravel path quickly gave way to mud and muck, and we began to wonder if we were doing this right. I have always had innate sense of direction, but since Ezra, I fight back demons of failure daily, which threaten all of my competencies, not just my baby-making skills. The couple times we saw other people on the path, we asked for reassurance, Is this the way to New Hope?

And yet, as with every other moment of this journey since Ezra, we held each other’s hand tight and slogged through the mud…and after what we later learned was 4.5 miles, we reached the town, enjoyed a quiet lunch and headed back, more assured on the muddy path before us.

No epiphany happened this weekend, no sudden moment of healing. But away from home, breathing different air and taking in new things, we did feel a little lighter, a bit more playful.

There’s a change I’ve noticed in myself for at least the past week, very subtle but its there. I am noticing a new energy in myself, I feel physically better, healthier, lighter. This month I’m more hopeful and at peace with our efforts to bring a younger sibling for Ezra into this world. Ezra feels farther away than ever now, I feel like I have been the mother of a dead baby for a lifetime, not 6 months and a week. Emotionally I am still (and will likely always be) completely shattered…I am not the same person I was before. The pain of losing Ezra is deep within my core and that hole in my heart will always be there. I am awakened to new layers of that pain daily. I still pry myself from the bed each morning, lie there wondering how life became such a heavy burden. And the same dark emotions of despair, rage, anxiety, jealousy bubble up each day with the same intensity as before. Yet this new energy is there, expectation, I can’t explain how or why. Is this what people mean when they say time heals?

When we reached the town of New Hope, there was no signal of our arrival, no arrow to point the way. In fact, we missed the turn over a small bridge that would take us into the center of town; we were hailed back in the right direction by an elderly couple walking behind us. Sitting at lunch we reveled in our accomplishment, we had made it this far, even though we knew we still had a long walk back. This journey of grief has taken us places we never expected to go, places we didn’t know existed, places for which there is no clear path or map. So far we’ve survived just by holding each other tight. As we set out to return, we noticed large white signs with bold red lettering, which hadn’t been there in the other direction: ‘Tow Path Closed for Dredging.’ Laughing, we grabbed each other’s hand and just kept walking...