Anyone who knows me knows that I am somewhat directionally challenged. And anyone who knows me probably thinks that’s an understatement. I can most definitely find my way out of a paper bag, but I don’t do north and south and east and west. I do left and right and up and down. And I have an affinity for landmarks, not mile markers. Tell me there’s an abandoned store on the right before I enter a long curve and then I take the next left. Don’t tell me to go east on Highway 64 for seven miles and then turn. I just told you, I don’t do east. (I also don’t do highway numbers so now is the time for a disclaimer. Any highway numbers mentioned in this post are only there because I asked someone while I was writing. And if you give me a street name there better be a sign big enough that I can see it a mile away.)

So when I learned I would have to travel to Memphis by myself on business, going to an office in Germantown, I was slightly apprehensive. Yes, I have been to Memphis before but my excursions usually involved a straight shot on Highway 64 which was not at all what I needed to do this time. Yes, I had been to this office before—that doesn’t mean I can find it again. And yes, I have a GPS into which I could enter the address. But the GPS and I do not always agree, directionally speaking, and therein lies the rub.

I have a Magellan which I named Maggie, mainly because it has a woman’s voice that sounds slightly British and makes me think of a younger Maggie Smith. And it just makes sense because it’s a Magellan. Get it? Maggie the Magellan . . .? So I typed in the address while sitting at the end of my driveway, then off I went.

We had our first disagreement when I turned left on Highway 22 headed toward Shiloh. My plan was to drive to Corinth, get on Highway 72, and breeze into Memphis from Mississippi. Maggie did not agree. As a matter of fact, she spent the next five miles insisting that I make a legal U-turn at the first available opportunity, even providing specific directions when such opportunity was upcoming. When she finally realized she wasn’t going to win, she fell into a pouty silence. No “Recalculating”. No, “Oh I see what you’re doing”. Just that “well, if you aren’t going to do it my way” pout. Eventually she came around and decided to talk to me again, I think mainly because she believed she could trick me into turning right at the four-way stop which would have put me on Highway 57 and back on her path. But I was too smart for her and again, she spent the next five miles insisting I make a legal U-turn at the next available opportunity.

Fortunately, the only times I really needed her assistance were in getting through Corinth and then getting off of 72 and making my way into Germantown and to my appointed destination—and at those times we were on the same map, so to speak. The trip back, however, was no better. She allowed me to head toward Corinth, even assisted in the process, but as I flew by my exit off of Highway 45, she never uttered a peep. I remember thinking, “Shouldn’t I have turned there?” but she was silent and I foolishly decided to trust her. Obviously, she had not paid much attention on the trip in; otherwise, I would never have ended up in Eastview.

Now, my locational references may not mean much to some of you, but let it suffice to say, Maggie knew where I needed to end up, but she didn’t necessarily know the best way to get there. Sometimes, if we’re not careful, we make the same mistake with family members and friends who are struggling to accept loss and adjust to life as it has become. Just as there are a zillion ways to get to Memphis, depending upon where you start and where you need to land, there are a multitude of ways to reach that state of acceptance and adjustment—and the best way is different for everyone. Don’t be the Maggie in their lives. You can help them along the way by offering support—a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on and cry on as the need arises, a presence that understands and does not condemn—but don’t try to map out their course and insist that they adhere to your directions. After all, they may be trying to get to Shiloh while you’re sending them through Eastview.

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