Between Two Worlds
In July, I did something I had never done before. I went to Google Flights, entered “From: New York City,” “To: Anywhere,” “When: August,” “For: 1 Week".” Then I clicked “Enter.”
With August on the horizon, I started to feel an itch creeping in. My summer, while busy, kept me mostly in New York, save for some work travel. I had PTO I had to use or lose by the end of August, and it was panning out to be a quiet month overall in the office. Many coworkers had planned travel and adventures for that month, but my grand plans involved my couch, my cat, and trying not to overheat in a New York Summer. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected with how my body and brain could be reacting my grief on any given day, so I hadn’t planned for much but resting and restoring in August. But as July creeped in, so did that familiar itch to go somewhere, do something. I took stock of where I was emotionally, and realized that I may just have the strength to take a trip for myself. With only a month out, it was surely too late though. Or was it? Only the internet would be able to tell me.
After rolling the dice and putting my hopes in the Google Flight algorithm, the best flight deals for a weeklong trip in the month of August started populating on a world map on my screen. One of the options caught my eye. “Reykjavik.” It was a steal of a price, I had a travel credit that would essentially cover the whole flight price (Thanks, Capital One!), and I realized I had more than enough points to cover a hotel (Thanks, Chase!). Iceland was one of the next trips Megan really wanted us to take. She wanted to go to the lagoons, and see glaciers, and see puffins. She wanted to see the Northern Lights. She wanted to do it all.
As I stared at the flight, then checked my calendar, then repeated about five more times, I realized that there was no one I needed to talk to before booking this for myself. No one to check on flight time choices, or hotel preferences. No one to make sure there weren’t work conflicts. Everything I needed to check was right in front of me. I booked everything on the spot, spent the evening trip planning and purchasing excursions, and closed all the tabs on my browser. I didn’t think about it much more until I received my check in notification.
About 24 hours before takeoff, my panic set in. This would be my first major trip since Megan died, and my first ever real solo travel trip. I had no idea how I would react to that much alone time to begin with, let alone being alone while navigating the weight of being without Megan. I started questioning this trip and why the hell I booked this in the first place. Megan was the one that was spontaneous, not me. We often laughed at how I loved how spontaneous she was, meanwhile she loved how predictable and calculated I was. She popped my anxious bubble, meanwhile I grounded her. She wasn’t here to push me, to tell me it would be okay. To cut through my anxieties with her warmth. Instead, I reminded myself that no matter what, nothing about this trip could be worse are harder than what I was already going through every day. I told myself that worst case scenario, instead of crying alone at home in my apartment, I would just be crying alone staring at an Icelandic waterfall. I could do that.
Some of my anxieties eased the moment I stepped off the plane. I hadn’t know this when I booked, but learned after that I had unknowingly booked my trip during Reykjavik Pride, and the airport had as many (if not more) rainbows than Christopher Street in June. I certainly wasn’t concerned about traveling in Iceland as a queer person, but it was still a comfort to see such a lavish display of support before even officially stepping foot on Icelandic soil. I hoped I would have the chance to feel Megan in some way on this trip. I hoped she was there with me.
Within my first hour of exploring downtown Reykjavik, I already felt small moments of connection with Megan. On my first walk, I had already run into two friendly street cats, met a shop cat, and even saw a cat sitting in a window. Megan was a HUGE cat girl, and when we had the classic “what animal do you think you would be” conversation, she was always steadfast in her answer of “a pampered house cat.” Additionally, seeing “kitty in the window,” as Megan and I affectionately called them, has turned into one of the “signs” I look for from Megan. Megan and I had a tradition where whenever we spotted one (usually in our neighbor’s window), we would either say it out loud and point it out to the other if we were together, and if we were apart, we would take a photo and send to the other. The traditional response to a “kitty in the window” spotting was to reply with “It’s going to be a great day.” Now, I still struggle with what I truly believe about our souls, our spirits, whatever you want to call it. It’s been one of my greatest mental struggles since Megan died.
Now, while I can’t honestly say that I believe in signs 100%, I am trying really hard in my own way. I know how certain things make me feel. And when I see a kitty in the window, I feel a wave of calm and comfort rush through my body. I have seen them in key moments since Megan died. One appeared across the street from my birthday dinner this spring. I spot ones on my way home after really hard days. I see them in the moments I need them. And I saw one my first afternoon in this new city. On this first day traveling without Megan, the cats came out of the woodwork. Each one felt like it was a friend checking in on me. I learned that Reykjavik is known as the “City of Cats.” I had no idea. Megan really would have loved this place.
On my first full touring day, one of the first stops on the tour was the iconic Icelandic waterfall, Gulfoss. The water was so strong that I was wrapped in a poncho just to get close. It was cold and windy. It was amazing. I stood close enough to the falls that all I could hear was the rushing water. I realized that, for the first time in many months, my mind was quiet. I immediately started weeping. I realized the falls were so loud, that no one around me could hear anyone else talking. I started talking out loud to Megan, hoping she could hear me. I asked her to send me a sign, something, anything. I apologized for being vague, but hoped she could find a way to give me something I couldn’t ignore, something I couldn’t logic myself fully out of. I told her I wanted something I could feel within me. I wiped my face, hoped the moisture could just be shrugged off as water from the falls, and returned to the group.
My tour carried on as scheduled. A volcanic crater, another waterfall, some geysers, a pullover off of the highway for Icelandic horses. All gorgeous, and all stops Megan would have loved. But I wasn’t seeing my sign anywhere. I felt greedy, I felt silly. This is what I get for getting my own hopes up. I remember that this is all I have left for the rest of my life, hoping and waiting and praying for some crumb of something I could convince myself was something to connect me to Megan. I hopped off the bus for the last stop of the day’s tour.
The last stop was in Þingvellir National Park. Iceland is divided by the Mid-Atlantic Rift, and some parts of the country are on the North American tectonic plate, while others are on the Eurasian plate. The rift is the area between where the two plates meet, and Iceland is the only place in the world where this rift is above sea-level. This creates the ability to walk between the rifts and stand between the two techtonic plates. I walked down to the bottom of the rift valley, and looked to the separate continental plates on either side of me. I was here while simultaneously on neither the North American plate nor the Eurasian. I was in a no man’s land stuck between two worlds. My grief brain immediately jumped to wondering if this is what Megan feels like, if she is out there somewhere. Does she feel stuck between two worlds? Like she is here, but also not really technically? I had to get out of this mental spiral, so I walked back up the valley and away from the rift. When I reached the top, I turned back to face the rift. A shiver immediately went through my entire body.
A rainbow had formed over the valley, with one edge of the rainbow starting directly over where I had been standing. Without even thinking, my feet started running and lead me to the top of a ridge with the best vantage point for viewing and photos. I reached the top, and the rainbow had only intensified. I realized it had only just started to form when I first saw it. The shiver returned, and it never left. The waterworks began. It was a full body experience unlike anything I had ever felt. I had been so struck that it took me a few minutes to realize that it had not even been raining previously. It truly came out of nowhere. I stood there with my rainbow until the last possible moment, and ran back to the bus. When I got to the bus, I turned around before heading up the stairs to get one more look at the rainbow. It had disappeared in a flash.
Still in a slight shock, I grabbed my phone to look up if there was any meaning for rainbows in Icelandic and Norse mythology. I had been learning so much about Iceland history and mythology, and I wondered if local expertise had an answer for what just happened. The first Google result read “In Icelandic mythology, the rainbow, or Bifröst, is a burning rainbow bridge that connects heaven and earth.” That was all the confirmation I needed.
I clocked back into the tour guide discussing the rift, and the various specific ecological conditions required to create what we just experienced. “Iceland is just a bunch of scars left over from a battle between the elements, and we are just along for the ride.” I was there for the ride, scars and all.
A few days in, friends and family had started checking in on me. They were understandably worried. It was my first time leaving the country since Megan died, and the first time doing it all on my own. One of my friends specifically asked how solo traveling was feeling to me, which is something I had been reflecting on already before the question was asked. My answer was maybe not what other people expected, because it wasn’t what I expected either. “Solo travel isn’t that hard when you have already had to acclimate to solo living.”
I actually think solo travel would have been emotionally harder to do if Megan was still alive. I would have been missing her, wishing she was with me. As much as I love travel, my love for her eclipsed everything. I would have always chosen a quiet day at home with Megan over a wild crazy day in another country without her. (Of course, the ideal would be the travel day WITH her, but you get the point.) The quiet day at home with the love of my life was no longer an option. And I had spent ten months getting used to that, and getting used to quiet days home alone. Solo travel just meant that instead of missing Megan while sitting on my couch at home, I was missing her while floating in a lagoon. The hardest part of this trip was being away from Megan, but that is something I have been forced to get used to against my will.
When it was time for me to return to New York, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I experienced so many magical moments. I felt close to Megan in ways I had not felt in ten months. I saw landscapes that made me feel like I was on another planet. I made friends that took me in as one of their own. I fell in love with a new country that I am sure will nourish me for years to come. It was nearly hourly that I found myself saying to myself “Megan would have loved this.” And I hope she did get to love this trip alongside me.
I slept for most of the flight home, and I woke up right as the flight attendant announced we were beginning our descent into New York. “Welcome home, honey” I thought to myself and Megan. At that moment, I felt my seat mate poke my shoulder. The stranger next to me, who I had previously not spoken a single word to in five hours, just looked at me and pointed out the window. I peered out to see what he wanted to make sure I saw. A vibrant rainbow was just outside out window, stretching from the clouds directly into the earth. Tears welled in my eyes as I told the stranger thank you. Welcome home indeed.
Griefy Recommendations
It’s been a minute, so I have two coming your way! The first Griefy recommendation is Rachel Bloom’s comedy special, Death, Let Me Do My Special, described as “Comedian and actor Rachel Bloom muses on birth, death, cosmic uncertainty and pungent trees in this whimsical and reflective musical comedy special.” As someone who has used Crazy Ex-Girlfriend as one of my comfort rewatch shows, I was, dare I say, excited to see Rachel Bloom’s take on the topic of death? She manages to deftly pack so many grief topics into a tight 80 minutes AND still have time for original musical numbers. Bloom tackles *spoiler alert I guess* just how bad American culture is at tackling grief, COVID, parenthood, anticipatory grief, The Rainbow Bridge, grieving a friend. Bloom delivers one of the best descriptions and representations of how trauma and traumatic memories can distort your everyday reality. It’s superb. And it’s now streaming on Netflix!
My next recommendation is the podcast Terrible, Thanks for Asking, hosted by one of my favorite grief writers and talkers,
. TTFA (as it is often shortened) is self described as “It’s a show that makes space for how it really feels to go through the hard things in life, and a community of people who get it.” The show is on somewhat of a pause, only occasionally releasing episodes, but it has a HUGE archive of fantastic episodes tackling all types of hard topics. In my earliest grief days, when I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts but I also couldn’t think about anything other than grief, this show was playing on an airpod in at least one ear at all times.I bring this recommendation to you today for a particular reason. About two months into widowhood, while listening to the end of an episode, there was a call for obituary submissions. The podcast was planning another episode to share more stories of the people we loved and this way we honor them. Laying in bed wrapped in a heated blanket and weighted blanket double layer burrito, I sent off an email with the obituary I wrote for Megan. Like almost everything those days, I immediately forgot about it. That is, until a couple of weeks ago when I got a text from a fellow camper at my Grief Camp. “Omg! Did you submit Megan’s obituary to the Terrible Thanks for Asking podcast??” I paused. Did I….? It sounded vaguely familiar, but I had only the foggiest memory of it. I raced to Spotify, saw the new episode title, hit play, and waited.
This episode begins with McInerny reading aloud a snippet of what I found to be one of the most impossible tasks on this planet: summarizing the totality of a person, their energy, their vitality, their spirit, into a string of words in the English language. And to do it during the darkest days imaginable (and darker than was ever imaginable). I raced to find the email I originally sent in, and I read that I closed out that email with this: “Just sending this along because I love sharing Megan with the world, and even if one person on the other side of this email reads it, that is worth it to me.” In the episode, McInerny finishes Megan’s segment by saying “Thank you for sharing Megan with us.” A thank you right back at you for helping me to share my favorite person in the world.
Thanks for making it to the end! I know it has been a bit longer than usual since I last published an essay. It has been, as is hopefully understandable, hard. Megan’s birthday was in September, and I have been in a big grief wave ever since. The one year anniversary of her death is coming up in less than a month, and the fog is full force. While in Iceland, I quickly learned country’s unofficial motto, “Þetta Reddast.” It's the belief that things will work out in the end. It’s an acknowledgement of hardship, but also a recognition that much is out of our control. I’ve recently had to lean into the motto in my grief, in writing, and in just about every aspect of life. And I hope you too can find that release.
Mackenzie
Beautiful
Thanks for sharing this beautiful post. I'm so glad you went to Iceland and that Megan sent you kitties in windows and rainbows.