By Carol Lucas
Last week, after the election results, I determined I wouldn’t let myself fall prey to depression. I have traveled that road before, with all its inherent pot holes, and, if at all possible, I will seek a detour every time.
My search for that alternate route took me to Atlanta where both of my daughters’ families, as well as my granddaughters, live. There is nothing like family to bolster you when you feel as though the bottom has suddenly dropped out, taking you with it.
Truth be known, however, seeing my great grandson was the lure that said, “Pack your bags and get out of Dodge, or in this case, Beaufort.”
This child warms my heart in a way that brings me out of the doldrums and into the sunshine every time. His smile is all I needed to forget, even temporarily, the state of the union or whatever we are calling it now.
So on Sunday morning, I put gas in my car ($2.68 a gallon, but I digress) and headed west on Interstate 16 across Georgia, and then north on Interstate 75. I was going to make this week the one that soothed the savage beast, even if I died trying.
The latter statement could well have occurred since I feel it is necessary to mention that ours is a house divided. Yes, some of those with whom I would spend the upcoming week are die-hard Republicans, so I really didn’t know what I might face although I was pretty sure the election wouldn’t be a topic of conversation.
Of course, that excludes my younger granddaughter about whom I wrote last week. She and I managed to squeeze in some time late at night to compare notes and commiserate! If you believe misery loves company, we were living proof at that time.
Thankfully, those on the other side of the fence weren’t any more anxious to engage in the “unspoken” than I, and family ties won out. Furthermore, we didn’t watch the news, and that was the absolute best thing for me. Out of sight, out of mind … almost.
Let me take a moment to address something that added a dimension of clarity to my thoughts as I traveled west. I don’t remember at what exact point I began to see a massive number of uprooted trees or those simply snapped off. It has to have been a 20-mile swath, at least, and it was a reminder of what hurricane Helene wrought.
This devastation occurred a few weeks back, and like so many of Mother Nature’s “incidents of magnitude,” it became lost in the maelstrom of politics. As I drove mile after mile, I wondered how much people had lost, or if there were those who had been killed or injured. My mind jumped immediately to western North Carolina and all of the loss there.
The clarity I alluded to earlier was simply this: immersing myself in something over which I had no control, short of my writing and my vote, was doing no one any good, especially me. I was able to drive my car to visit my family; I had money to stop and buy lunch, and with luck or some heavenly assistance, I would arrive safely. Those fallen trees reminded me that not everybody could say the same.
So my week with my family was cathartic. We laughed a lot, we hugged and verbally expressed our love for one another, and we discussed plans for the upcoming Christmas. There are so many schedules to be considered and integrated, but somehow Christmas eve and Christmas day will be all about family.
I look forward to that trek across I-16 again in December because I know it will bring me joy at the end of the journey. Ah, the journey’s end … at my age, I recognize those times of delight in family gatherings are winding down. Therefore, I intend to relish every moment and actively remove from my brain, even temporarily, those things in life that are disappointing.
That said, look out 2025, because this old broad will continue to share her opinion on things she believes to be important as they unfold. You, my dear reader, wouldn’t expect anything less.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident. She is the author of the recently published “A Breath Away: One Woman’s Journey Through Widowhood.”
