The Joyful Widower

January 20, 1996, Melinda Johnson and I were married at St. Elizabeth’s in Farragut, TN. The day was clear and cold, blue skies and sub-freezing temperatures. Melinda was absolutely beautiful in her wedding dress (which I was to learn later was held together by safety pins–the alterations were not sewn as well as they should have been!).

All I had told Melinda about the honeymoon was to get a passport and to pack warm clothes. Waiting for the passport was exciting; she applied for it right before the big 1996 government shutdown. I whispered the location to her at the reception right before we cut the cake; I can still hear her excitedly announcing to the guests, “we’re going to Scotland!”

The next day we set off and ultimately arrived in Oban, Scotland. We stayed at the Caledonian Hotel, a remnant of Oban’s heyday as a popular resort spot in Victorian times. Banging steam radiators woke us up each morning. The bathtub was a small swimming pool. Our room was huge, high-ceilinged, and with a spectacular view of Oban Bay (Oban means “little bay”; calling it Oban Bay sounds a bit like ATM machine or PIN number). Swans swam around the bay. Having seen the remake of “Father of the Bride” during our wedding planning, we laughed about “Frank the wedding planner” providing the swans.

So many memories from that week. Touring the whiskey distillery. Shopping for clothes made from local wool. Trying haggis for the first time (really, it’s pretty good–kind of like sausage. Honest!). Attending mid-week service at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (Scottish Episcopal).

The highlight of the week was our day trip to Iona, the cradle of Christianity in Scotland. It is a wind-swept island with white beaches, emerald pastures with sheep, green and blue shoals, pink granite, and a feeling that heaven is touching earth. We got up early that morning, boarded the ferry in Oban for the nearly hour-long ride to the isle of Mull, followed by the 90 minute bus ride across the island (allowing time for herds of sheep to clear the road along the way), then finally took the 10 minute ferry ride from Mull to Iona.

Dun I is the highest point on Iona. It’s a craggy edifice, with sheep tracks to get to the top. The view from on top is breathtaking, with Mull to the east and the Atlantic Ocean to the west. Melinda sat to wait for me to climb up and take pictures, because she had injured both legs in an accident several years prior and wasn’t sure about making the climb. I went on ahead and started snapping photos, only to see her crest the hill and join me some minutes after I’d arrived. She told me that as soon as I’d disappeared from view, she decided “I’ll be damned if I let him go up there without me.” I’m blessed that she did; we took photos of each other on top of Dun I.

A few months ago, I decided that the best way to mark our 30th anniversary would be to revisit Oban and Iona. Everyone has to find their own way to manage grief. For me, making a plan for a milestone or a holiday helps me to tackle the day rather than the day tackling me.

When I had planned our honeymoon trip, I cluelessly had us flying into London then taking the train to Scotland (the train ride was nice, the snowy countryside was beautiful, but it did add a full day of travel up and a full day of travel back). I decided to split the difference this time. I flew into London, running through the airport to catch my train northward. I’ll fly home from Glasgow when the trip is over!

I broke my trip with a stop in Shrewsbury for the weekend to visit Fr. Panteleïmon Maxfield and Presvytera Yiota and their sons. I first met them 10 years ago, then saw them again in 2018 with Tracy and my kids along for that trip, and the kids and I stayed with them in 2022 when we made our trip to Europe after Tracy’s death. They had me over for dinner both nights I was in Shrewsbury, and we enjoyed much laughter and conversation. I also had a chance to catch up with Tim and Norma Robinson, the Church of England clergy from the village of Tilston who joined me for the Saturday afternoon in Shrewsbury.

It was during lunch with Tim and Norma that the topic of gratitude came up. Somehow or other we got to talking about the Gospel lesson of Jesus healing the ten lepers, but only one returned to give thanks. As the day progressed I thought more and more about the word “gratitude.” And then the next morning at Divine Liturgy, the Gospel reading was… Jesus and the ten lepers. And then that Sunday night, on the train to Oban while I was listening to evening prayers from the Orthodox church in Glasgow, the sermon about suffering (based on Jesus healing a blind man) referenced… Jesus and the ten lepers.

My trip was conceived and begun in gratitude, but consciously embracing it is more than generally sensing an ambience. Since this weekend, I have been actively choosing the “attitude of gratitude,” of seasoning every petition, ever prayer, with thankfulness. Thankfulness is not a whitewash that makes grief disappear, but it is a posture of the heart that allows for softening and absorbing grief. And so I was led into a greater intentionality of thanksgiving and prayer on this trip. The whole trip itself is becoming a prayer of reliance on God every step of the way.

One of the most important bits of my plan was a day-trip to Iona, as Melinda and I had done all those years ago. I wrote to Fr. Seraphim, the abbot of the monastery on Mull and Iona, and told him that I was planning to make the trip over. He wrote back that it might be dicey. The ferries and the buses run on a reduced schedule in January, and can be canceled at a moment’s notice due to weather. When I looked at the schedules I was initially disheartened. It seemed a day trip wouldn’t be possible, but staying on the island overnight wouldn’t work out, either. Both hotels on the island were closed for the winter, and all the B&Bs that advertised “open year round” were closed because of renovations, or the owners were on holiday, or one had married a wife, or one had bought a field… you get the picture. And then I saw that Monday was the one day that could work. Monday there is an early bus, to bring the school children from Iona and Mull to the mainland for school. Catching the first ferry from Oban at 6:45 would get me there, as long as the weather held.

All weekend I prayed for good weather. I asked St. Brendan to make a way for me to visit the island. I also brought myself to the point of praying that, if it didn’t work out, that I would be grateful for the time in Oban without the day trip to Iona. And so, Sunday night I set my alarm and went to bed, trying to go to sleep in spite of my excitement of being once again in Oban. And then I had the feeling that I needed to set my alarm 15 minutes earlier than what I had…

I arrived at the ferry terminal at 6:10, ready to buy a ticket for the 6:45 ferry. I confirmed that the early bus was running, and that the ferry from Mull to Iona was running. And then the ticket agent printed my ticket and told me to run for the gate. It turns out the schedule had changed from what was published on the web site, and the 6:45 ferry was departing at 6:15. Had I not set my alarm 15 minutes earlier, I would have missed the first boat and any chance of seeing Iona on this trip.

With prayers of thanksgiving I made the journey to Iona. I met one of the monks on my arrival, and shared with him the reason for my journey. He wrote down Melinda’s name and told me that she would be commemorated at Divine Liturgy on Tuesday (our anniversary). I then began my time on the island with the akathist hymn to the Sweetest Name of Jesus, pulled my rain suit on over my 2 layers of clothes and wellies, and set off to tramp around the island in the wind and rain.

Dun I was more of a challenge than when I climbed it 4 years ago with my kids, but then again I’m older every time I climb it (this was my 4th time), and this time it was raining and muddy. With grit and determination, and careful slow going, I made it to the top, where I stopped, prayed, remembered and reflected, and had a bite to eat and some water before heading back down. The whole time on the island, name after name came to mind, and I prayed for many friends and family, and especially for my widowed brothers and sisters and our children.

On my return from Iona, I had something to eat, thawed out in a hot bath, took some ibuprofen (“vitamin I”, as a friend of mine calls it), gave thanks for the day, then turned off the alarm before going to sleep.

Today was a rest day. I slept until I woke up, had a light breakfast, then walked the town until lunch time. I’ve had a nap, then sat down to write. It’s now 5:00 in the afternoon in Oban. The sun has gone down and the esplanade is lighting up. Earlier today I found the restaurant where I want to have a dram of Oban whiskey to toast Melinda, then a dinner of haggis with neeps and tatties (parsnips and potatoes). I may check out Markie Dan’s, a pub here in town that’s popular with the locals, or I may just return to my room. I’ll figure it out after dinner.

The trip has been a true blessing. I’ve met friends along the way, and I’ve had the chance to talk with so many folks. There was the young lady on the flight from Knoxville who shared with me about losing her grandparents who had been instrumental in raising her. The retired police office in Shrewsbury who told me about dying twice in hospital for sepsis, only to be brought back both times. The Scottish lady on the train who shared with me about losing her nan and her brother and sister. The woman who gave me a hug this morning when I shared about being here to mark my 30th anniversary. The Holy Comforter has been present to me the whole time since I set out on my journey, and all I can say is that God is merciful and kind. And for that we can be truly grateful!