During the pandemic, Malaysia imposed strict parameters for movement, including not being able to cross the bridge from our island to the mainland. When those regulations relaxed a little, a group of us embarked on various short road trips. I would look up the area online and find fun coffee shops, eateries, unique sights and activities, and create an itinerary for the day. We relied heavily on Google maps which we discovered on several occasions, was not always accurate! 

In an attempt to find a waterfall I’d seen on Instagram, we ended up driving my old Toyota Unser (a stripped-down Land Cruiser look-alike) along a rice paddy goat trail only to be told politely by a British Google voice, “you have reached your destination.” We laughed so hard! What in the world?! Of course it took several cautious attempts to turn my vehicle around without toppling over into a rice paddy! I’m sure the farmers were wondering what in the world were these foreign ladies doing?!

Another time, Google’s destination brought us to the middle of a palm tree plantation. It was disappointing but laughable too. Oh, Google! I’ve been thinking about that this week as I’ve experienced these strange “dead end” thoughts in my mind in which the neural highway is trying to take me somewhere that no longer exists. It’s a little tricky to explain, so bear with me.

The absence of something can call our mind to attention. For example, in the dark hours of the night, I have to hold the corner of my bed with my hand while I give myself an ample berth to avoid stubbing my toes on the upholstered bench that sits on the end of the bed. What if during the night, someone came in and stole my upholstered bench? 

Like Google maps, there’s a map in our brains that relies on prior information it knows about the area. The brain has an entire area devoted to error detection, perceiving situations where the brain map and real world do not match. It switches to visual information when an error is detected. If I didn’t sense the bench, I’d likely feel disconcerted and turn on the lightswitch so that my eyes could assess the situation. 

When Google maps told us, “you have reached your destination,” our eyes could tell us this was laughably untrue. In my current reality, my brain is trying to solve a discrepancy between a brain map of neural highways that contained Karl, with the unhappy reality of his absence. I would never expect someone to steal my upholstered bench, and neither did I expect Karl would get pancreatic cancer (of all things!), and die so young.

To get technical, these brain neurons are called object-trace cells. They fire for the ghostly trace of where Karl is in my internal virtual map. Until the virtual map of my brain fully updates, these object-trace cells are taking me to incomplete destinations. The neural trace persists until the brain learns that our loved one is never going to be in our physical world again. In order for my brain to reconcile the error, it creates “what if” scenarios.

As the brain is trying to reconcile this discrepancy and incompatibility, it runs through various alternate scenarios. The brain is constantly generating reminders - did I turn the stove off? Did I gas the car? Did I order that supplement for Karl?, etc. These “push notifications” become a problem when the reminders conflict with reality. They can come in the form of intrusive thoughts - involuntary, unannounced, sudden, spontaneous. They come unbidden, unexpected and often take us by surprise, altering the mood of the moment with flashbacks and memories. It feels like a painful twinge and emotions flood to the surface. 

Another way the brain tries to cope is by trying to recreate memories with “what ifs.” The brain does this naturally as it’s trying to learn. According to the author of “The Grieving Brain,” the brain is “orchestrating an experiential simulation. By generating ‘what ifs’ in response to yearning, your brain is imaging events that might have played out differently than they actually did.” “What ifs” are illogical and unhelpful and can be upsetting because the number of “possible counterfactuals is infinite.” For example, I had a very upsetting and vivid dream Sunday night. My brain was processing the morning’s message from church, and in that semi-conscious state, still working at reconciling Karl’s death. I dreamed he fell ziplining and was traumatically injured. The paramedics were there, and the kids and I rushed to see him, but we couldn’t save him. Oh, boy, that is the kind of dream that knocks me flat.

The mismatch between the virtual map and reality is that when loved ones die, they can no longer be found in the dimensions of space and time. This creates alarm and confusion in the brain. We have an attachment, a bond, an invisible tether that bridges space and time and so death presents a particularly devastating problem for the brain - it’s outside its experience, it’s illogical.

When planning these little road trips, I liked to have an idea of the space and time it would take. I would create an itinerary with a logical, logistical flow, complete with time, distance, and downloaded photos. It’s not too dissimilar than wanting to know visually where my kids went when they crossed the globe to attend college. It was helpful to have pictures or video of their room and where they were situated on campus. I needed a mental map of their surroundings so I could picture them when they were so far away. Even now, my youngest gave me a Facetime tour of her apartment in Kane’ohe and Tripler Medical Center where she works. Now I find comfort in knowing her surroundings and can picture her in my mind when we talk on the phone.

Unlike the traveling misadventures with my dear girlfriends, this GPS malfunction in my brain is tiresome and much more lonely. I realize it takes time and it’s hard to be patient. Our little beleaguered family continues to have various medical and financial challenges and the struggle is real. I wonder if passersby are tired of seeing me U-turn dead ends, or if in my fatigue and brain fog I miss visual cues and crucial signposts. So I’m especially appreciative to those of you who write and cheer us on despite the “dead ends” and misadventures along the way.

Mikaela remembers the 6th of each month and calls. This week she unintentionally called at about the time of night Karl passed away, 9 months ago. For us, this process is still very fresh and it’s not simply a date on a calendar but a cataclysmic life-altering experience we feel on a daily basis. We understand that life moves on and we’re the only passengers in this particular Toyota Unser, but we sure are grateful for those who give a wave of acknowledgement as you pass us by, however that might look. Thank you!