Upside Down
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I am not sure what possessed me to plan a most unlikely excursion for my fifteen-year-old grandson and my seventy-eight-year-old self. (A secret ingredient perhaps in our veggie nachos at the new Tex-Mex restaurant in town? Or, more likely, my upside-down existence since my husband Jim’s death six months before that still clouded my thinking.) In any case, Zion and I signed ourselves up for a four-rope zip line adventure in Georgia’s nearby mountains. By the time zip line day arrived, four family members, ranging in age from eleven to seventy-eight (yeah, me), had gotten involved. And the adventure had expanded from four to seven zip lines. Actually, I originally signed up as a spectator, but the slick-talking zip line manager at the front desk convinced me I would be safe, even in my elderly “condition.” And that is how I found myself sporting a bright-yellow helmet and an unflattering seat harness. Then, the zip line festivities began. Though I whooped in support of my family members whizzing down the first four lines (I always went last), I would hold my breath, cling to the safety line, and squeeze my eyelids tightly shut on my own terrifying rides. Before our ride down the fifth (and longest) line, the guide suggested some might like to zip-line upside down.
I stifled a scornful laugh at his preposterous suggestion.
Then my three family members actually did it! So I began to self-commune: Carolyn, you just lost your soulmate of thirty years. What could be worse than that? Being upside down on a zip line cannot be any scarier than the uncertainty and loneliness you have been carrying around. “What’s that flip-over maneuver again?” I asked the guide.
Soon I was zipping down the line upside down.
When I opened my eyes and looked “up,” I saw a forested pond “above” me. When I looked “down,” my elevated feet appeared to be walking across the sky. I was living a metaphor. The location of the earth and sky had not changed, but my perspective had. For suspended and whizzing with me through thin air, God was doing “something new,” something healing. Euphoria? No, more like conviction. Though recently widowed, I now knew I would survive the ride ahead in my new upside-down world.
Carolyn Rathbun Sutton
