Home

As I pack my bags, this word, "home" keeps running through my thoughts. In a sense, I feel like by returning to the Sierra's, I am coming home. In other ways, I feel as if I am leaving our home, the home that Tommy and I made together. Then there is the home I will be returning to after I complete this trip - the same physical space that I left but one that I must now truly be alone in. I have been saved from this painful part of this journey until now - until my beautiful friend of 17 years must return to her home.

My husband, Tommy, and I have made each of our homes truly reflect the people that we are. Each has had wonderful raised garden beds, a place for the dogs, and a place for us to enjoy family time. This was the first time that we were able to really shape and mold our backyard - we worked with the builders to terrace the yard in a specific manner to allow each area to have it's own space. A chicken coop stands on the third tier - a chicken coop that Tommy built with his own two hands, complete with a shingle roof, chicken wire windows, and a weather vane on top. The chickens have been gone for a few months. I gave them away for I could not take care of them amongst my grief. The raised garden beds are still producing carrots, kale, garlic, fennel and beets to name a few - I was able to successfully overwinter them all! The dog area now has a new dog house that Tommy's brother and friend built for me recently - adorned with a replica of one of Tommy's tattoos. Our family time area has not been used since the loss of Tommy. The fire pit remains covered with a black tarp. The pillows for the seating, securely stored in the garage. The hammock and slack line taken down for the winter. Inside our home, lay constant reminders around each corner, hiding in the nooks and crannies of the life we had together and the life we were supposed to still have together. Concert tickets that I got for him for his birthday still remain on his desk - we never made it. A large picture mosaic hangs at the top of the stairs of our trip to Tanzania where he proposed. A book lay open on his desk - the book is "Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills" and the page that has been staring me in the face is one on two person crevasse rescue. In our bedroom, a handmade banner hangs across the window that faces our bed - the banner is from our wedding and reads "Tommy <3 Bliss Sept 7, 2013 <3 Alison." On my phone a calendar reminder pops up - this weekend we had plans to attend an Avalanche 2 course at Mt. Baker. A closet full of clothes, a bar of soap in the shower, his toothbrush by the sink...all constant reminders of our life together - what it was and what it was supposed to be.

Am I ready to leave this house full of bittersweet reminders?

I am packing for a trip to the Sierra's to climb Matterhorn Peak in winter conditions. In order to pack for this, I must go through our climbing gear. Each piece of climbing equipment from carabiners to backpacks to helmets down to even socks, has a deep tie to Tommy. Not only was it with Tommy that we both grew as mountain climbers but it was in the Sierra's where our love for each other grew. We took many trips to the Sierra's while dating and as a married couple. It was in the Sierra's where we shared our first kiss. It was in the Sierra's where we made a Thanksgiving tradition. It was in the Sierra's where we grew as a couple and as a team. It was in the Sierra's where we discovered our ambitions. The Sierra's were ours. It was the Sierra's that I missed most after moving to Oregon. As I pack our gear to return to these mountains that we loved, my heart breaks once again. I am returning to our Sierra's as a widow, with Tommy only in my heart. I am taking a trip that I know he would've loved. I can only imagine what his energy would be like while packing for this trip - the whole house would be buzzing with excitement. Meanwhile, back in reality I am not quite sure what there is more of in my bag: tears or gear?

Am I ready to return home to the Sierras without my lover by my side?

Once I leave our home tomorrow, bags packed, dogs in the back of the car, my friend by my side, it will not be the same when I return. When I return, I will have to face daily live by myself. I have had a support person with me since I got off of the mountain and I am beyond thankful to everyone that has spent time with me in order to make sure that I am not alone. I have faced only a handful of things by myself since Tommy's death. I have managed small errand trips. One day trip to the mountains. I cannot imagine not having someone to help get me through the days. Until my return home, I have had someone that I can talk to when things aren't going great. Someone to hug me when one is in order. Somebody to physically fill the space next to me. I suppose it is my time.

Am I ready to return home alone?

I suppose it is time to find out what I am made of.

P.S. Lover, though you won't be with me physically, you will be with me still for you are in my heart and soul. You are with me everyday, even more so in the mountains. Cheers to an amazing trip! I love you so incredibly much.

Finding Strength

I awoke from my sleep the other night. This has become a new normal for me. I have not had a good night's sleep since the night before we left our tent for our summit attempt on Mt. Jefferson. I have tried a myriad of remedies ranging from the natural to prescriptions. Even on my best night, I wake up several times throughout the night. I suppose it just comes along with the territory for now. However, something was different about this wake up call. I felt this strange feeling of inspiration and motivation come over me.

We were having an unusual spell of gorgeous, sunny days for the Pacific Northwest. I grabbed my laptop and my fingers instantly typed in the Google search bar the following words: "Climbing Mt. St Helens in Winter." I read up on the route, which is called Worm Flows and then proceeded to complete my in depth weather check. Everything was good to go. It was 1 am. I knew I needed a few more hours of rest before making the two and a half hour drive and twelve mile climb. I set the laptop down and set my alarm for 5 am.

Strangely, my body did not fight sleep as much as it usually does after one of my many wake up spells. Next thing I knew, my alarm was waking me up to a gentle yet energetic tune. Time to pack my backpack and let my friend know what I was up to. In attempts on not waking her up this early in the morning, I had planned to leave her a note with the details. I left my room and was headed downstairs when I saw the soft, yellow glow seeping out from underneath her door. I tiptoed to her door and softly whispered, "human?" She responded! I told her my plans and she stated that I was buzzing with energy. She accompanied me downstairs while I packed the rest of my things.

This will be my first truly solo hike/climb since I decided to leave the dogs at home due to the long day that this climb would entail. I made sure I packed headphones in the event that my empty mind went haywire. I had audio books downloaded to keep my mind occupied and even brought a back up cell phone for music. I was just about ready to start my long, quiet drive to the trailhead when she asked, "Are you bringing Tommy?" I stopped in my tracks and was silent for quite awhile. What was I afraid of? Why wouldn't I take him? He had never been to the summit of Mt St Helens for he was waiting for winter when it was more of challenge. "Yes...I'm going to take him!" I responded with both excitement and hesitation in my voice.

We both ran back upstairs and found the perfect pouch. It was small enough to take a small amount of Tommy's ashes with me. Small enough to fit in my pocket. Now that I had the pouch I was going to take him in, it was time to open the perfectly adorned scattering tube to access his remains. The pain was real. The struggle was intense. I pushed through. I would have done anything to go on this climb with my lover. I opened the lid and delicately placed one spoonful of what remains of my husband into the pouch. I sealed the pouch and placed it in my left hand pocket along with the rock that is inscribed " I love us." It was a rock that we would give back and forth to each other on different summits - an idea we initially got from the penguins that search the beaches for the perfect pebble to give to their mates. I realigned the image on his scattering tube so it was perfect and placed his wedding band back on top  and headed out for our climb together.

Like I have mentioned previously, I am not afraid of hiking alone. I have spent countless days hiking and scrambling to summits in the sierras while solo. However, there is a piece of me that is afraid of what my mind might bring up while out in the mountains these days. With no distractions of daily life, what will I think of? Will I break down in tears and not be able to carry on? Will I have flashbacks? The scariest thing for me regarding my mental game is the unknown. I know I have to be alone at some point but I have definitely been postponing it out of the fear. Arriving at the trailhead I told myself that it was time to face the truth. Time to face the pain. Time to face the fear. It was time.

From the trailhead, I instantly needed snowshoes for traction. I focused on my breathing and the wandering trail through the forest. I had only gotten a tiny glimpse of the mountain during the drive in and she was now in hiding. Once out of the tree line, the route was up for discussion. I saw snowshoe tracks going up a ridgeline, heading toward the summit. I saw other tracks wrapping around a small hill where I saw a sign that read "Ski Trail Loop." I waivered on which way to go. This was not in the research that I had read. That was when I heard Tommy's voice, "If all else fails, just go up." So, that's what I did. I knew my goal was the summit, so I headed straight for it and went up the ridgeline. That ridgeline met up with another steeper ridge that needed to be gained at which point I realized that this must not be the "route." There wasn't that many footprints and from what I understand, this is a fairly popular mountain. That is when I scanned my surroundings.

To the left, three of four small ridges over, I could see the stamped out path to the summit. I debated whether or not to retreat and get on the path or continue up the path less traveled. It would have been and exhaustive measure just to meet up with the normal path. I decided to stay on the path less traveled. I call this pulling a "Tommy." Throughout all of our adventures I can recall several occasions where we took the more "creative" route - somehow leaving a nicely groomed trail for one covered with downed trees and boulders and scree (my favorite!). As I fought my way up this icy ridge, grabbing onto trees for added oomph, I giggled to myself. Of course this is how our climb would go, he wouldn't have it any other way.

For those that don't know me, I am typically a trail kind of girl. I prefer a nicely groomed trail over bushwhacking through the forest. I prefer solid footing over loose rock or boulders that move underneath my feet. I prefer knowing exactly where I am going as opposed to guessing my route. I prefer a nice timid day to hike as opposed to too hot or too cold. I can still do all of the other situations, I just may or not be a little more vocal about my dislikes. On several of our climbs, I would reach a point where I would have a mini mental break down about how much the footing sucked or how I didn't like hopping over trees and getting whipped with branches. Today was different though.

I was getting hit with branches as I forcefully pulled myself up the icy slope. I was scrambling on volcanic boulders with my snowshoes still on, pulling and testing holds before I used them for the rock is very crumbly. The slope on the ridgeline that would eventually take me to the summit became steeper. My snowshoes were becoming less effective in combating the steep slope and the snow was becoming softer due to the gorgeous sun. I switched to crampons to aide in my climb. From time to time (more times than I am normally okay with), I would take a step and my foot would sink through the snow until I was waist deep. I would dig deep and struggle my out of the post hole and carry on. I fought and fought this mountain, this less traveled route. I fought hard. I dug deep. I continued.

Normally, I would have lost my composure at the second or third time I lost my footing. However, just like when I awoke at 1 am, something was different this time. It very well could have been that I had a mission to get Tommy to the top. Or it could have been that Tommy was providing me with some of his strength and level headedness. Whatever it was, it was amazing. Long story short, I failed to reach the summit. I decided to turn around when it was nearing 4 pm and I still had about 1000 vertical feet to climb. I was prepared to hike out in the dark but ideally I don't like to still be pushing for the summit when it comes to dusk. At the point when I realized I couldn't make it, I turned around and attempted to soak in the views. From where I was on the mountain side, I could see three other glorious cascade mountains - Mt Adams, Mt Hood, and always looming in the distance, Mt. Jefferson.

It was at this point that my knees slowly buckled and I sank until the snowy slope of the mountain caught me. I wasn't in danger of falling. It was more of a sinking to my knees move, I was giving in. Tears rolled down my face and I told Tommy that I couldn't make it, that "I tried so hard, baby...I just couldn't do it." I sat there on the mountain side and just cried. The tears weren't there for my failure. They were there because of my pain, because of losing my lover, because Tommy wasn't here to see this beauty and experience this mountain. I cried and I cried and I cried. I told him how much I miss him and how much I love him and how sorry I was for not getting him up there to see the other side. The pain was real. The struggle was real. The hurt was so real. I couldn't escape it this time by hopping on my computer or calling my mom or turning on a movie. It was just me, the mountain and my pain.

Again, I dug deep, turned my pain into strength and carried on down the mountain. My phone that I was using for music died and I was left with my thoughts and my thoughts only for the descent. I made it. I talked to Tommy at times as if he were there. Other times I was just silent and my mind was still. I reveled in the things that I had accomplished during the ascent. I was proud of myself. I found strength in the pain. I realized that I now have a strength that is untouchable - a strength that may have always been in me but one that I never knew was there. Pain doesn't always have to break us down, it can build character, and show us what we really want. Pain is just another obstacle. Pain can be beautiful and strong and graceful. I embrace the pain and all that it brings me.

P.S. I am stronger because of you, Tommy. I love you with a passion and we will be on many summits together, my dear. I had a dream the other night and you were in it. I asked you, "what do we do now?" and you said "My love, we could talk, we could lay, we could just be." And then you wrapped your arms around me in a lovers embrace. I could feel it. My skin around my back and shoulders were tingling with the sensation of your arms wrapped around me. I could feel it, baby. I would give anything to feel that again. I love you so fiercely, lover.

A Graceful Fight

I have said that I want to flow through this journey in a graceful fashion. I knew it would not always be easy. However, at times during it feels almost impossible. It seems as if whenever I make progress in one area, I slide back two in another. Right now, my obstacles include others. By no means do I intend to offend anyone for I love each and every one of you that have been with me through this journey. However, my heart is pained at times and other times I do not have the words to say. I wish I could respond perfectly to every situation. I wish I had all the answers.

I know that a lot of people are grieving the loss of a great man. We all grieve differently. Some have withdrawn from me. Maybe they don’t know what to say. Maybe seeing me is a constant reminder of what is not. Maybe I have nothing to offer them except a reminder of Tommy. Maybe they are grieving on their own. Maybe it has nothing to do with me. It is so hard at times to accept that some people may no longer be in my life because of Tommy’s death. I can only open myself up so many times before I begin to focus on why they haven’t responded or called, etc. This worry becomes turmoil, derailing me from a gracious journey. I must accept that good intentions are out there, that they know I am here for them when the time is right. I must accept that some relationships will never be the same but they can still be present and grow in a new light. I must accept that some relationships will be lost. Accept the loss, learn from it and hopefully grow from it. In potentially losing these relationships, I never want to place blame on anyone. I cannot blame myself for this loss. I cannot blame the other for this loss. It is just the nature of the beast.

Some grieve by protecting and doing. I know these individuals have beyond good intentions and have helped me in so many ways already, many ways that they may never know. Some are overprotective and in this place of good from their heart, they may overstep boundaries. With this being done out of the kindness of their heart, it is easy to forgive them and understand where they are coming from. Everyone just wants to help. I get that. However, it comes a time when I need to stand on my own two feet and all I need is love and support. I am at that place in my journey where I need to be surrounded by love and grace. Gone is the time of making checklists for me. Gone is the time of making sure I showered. Gone is the time of ensuring I ate. Gone is the time. I now need love and grace like no other. They say to surround yourself with people that inspire and motivate you, for you are more likely to become like them. My path to grace requires many graceful and lovely individuals to walk with me. I can accept that not all are ready for exuding love and grace and happiness. The grief process takes us down a long, dark road through anger and denial. My hopes are that my path can pass that exit and keep on.

I know that those that knew Tommy are all grieving. I am not necessarily special by any means. We must continue to grieve and continue to honor him in the best way that we can. I was recently told that, “Tommy wouldn’t act this way,” to which I responded, “well, maybe Tommy was a better person than I,” to which I was told, “Tommy was a better person.” Am I mad at this statement? No. Tommy definitely was the master of dealing with people. I feel like I have witnessed him delicately dance around many confrontations with friends, family and businessmen alike. Tommy had a way. He was a problem fixer by nature. Fixing problems in a way that made every party involved happy. That is definitely a gift that I do not posses but lessons can be learned. Does this make him a better person than I? No. Who is to say someone is better or not in the first place? We don’t need to be judging one another and comparing ourselves to others. We should be focusing on becoming the best versions of ourselves. I focus everyday on becoming better and stronger and more graceful than the me from yesterday. That is the only comparison that should be done. And even then…we must also forgive ourselves when yesterday’s selves kicked today’s self’s ass. It’s okay to slip up. It is in those moments that we realize what our focus really is. Is it to wallow in self pity or is to stand up and try again? I am choosing standing up. I am trying every day. I accept the person I am today and also accept the challenge to better myself.

I will continue to fight for a graceful journey. And I hope everyone else out there grieving Tommy's loss or the loss of a friend or loved one can also find grace, beauty and peace along their paths.

P.S. Tommy, I love you. I miss you. I will be better because of you.

And Ever Thanks

Many of you know that the day finally came when I was able to meet the mountain rescue team that assisted in getting me off of the mountain after the accident that changed my life. They were also an integral part of bringing my husband home the next day. The Corvallis Mountain Rescue Unit along with several other local search and rescue teams, the Oregon National Guard, U.S. Coast Guard and Linn and Marion County Sheriff's were all major parts of the search and rescue effort and many of the individuals involved and institutions may never truly know how thankful I am for the help that they provided to me but also for the work they do on a regular basis. These individuals are often volunteers and leave their families and their homes to go out to assist complete strangers...and for that, I am forever thankful. Since I was airlifted off of Mt. Jefferson, I have only wanted one thing. I wanted to say thank you to those that fought so hard to rescue my husband and I. I wanted to personally thank each and every one of them and let them know that their work is beyond appreciated and recognized. That day came.

My family and I were able to meet the members of the Corvallis Mountain Rescue Unit a few days ago. We talked about how grateful we were for their aide and for them bringing Tommy back home to us. We laughed. We shared stories over beer. We talked about other outdoor activities. Where to buy the best skis. What the best dog food is. We talked about our normal day to day lives. We talked. We laughed some more. We hugged. There may or may not have been a few teary eyes in the room from time to time. But most of all, I was able to become acquaintances on a personal level with those that majorly impacted my life. One of the most fulfilling days ever.

I would like to share the thank you letter that I wrote to the team:

"To the Corvallis Mountain Rescue Unit,

 

You have said that you think of me and my family often. That is true for me as well, everyone on the team has been in my thoughts every day since the accident on Mt. Jefferson. I think about how everyone is processing the mission. I think about whether or not you were put in danger. I think about how you drop everything going on in your normal life to run out there and help strangers. I thank you for that, every day.

 

Being an emergency responder myself, I know we can beat ourselves up regarding how a call or a mission turns out. I am not sure if any of you are doing that regarding our mission but if you are, I want to assure you that you did everything right. You got to us as soon as you could and I am so grateful for your attempts. I watched you delicately dance on the ridgelines and navigate the glacier with precision. I also saw your kindness, generosity, and sincerity. I would hate for you to beat yourselves up over the outcome that weekend. You did everything right. You did everything perfectly.

 

Personally, you were part of my driving force during the night. I had nothing else to look forward to except your pending arrival. Many of you might have heard this or read this from the article in the newspaper, but you really were my beacons of hope through the night. Once we made contact, I realized that you were some of the most humble, caring, courageous, and selfless bad asses out there. You were no longer this fictitious character out in the distance, but human. You did not have to be so caring. Your mission was to rescue two stranded hikers, not be an emotional support system for a young widow. I guess what I am trying to say is that each and every one of you went above and beyond and showed exemplary care.

 

It was an honor.

 

From the bottom of my beat up and broken heart…Thank you."

 Were they brought into my life because of shitty circumstances? Absolutely! But I feel like certain individuals are always brought into your life for a reason and I truly believe that these amazing individuals were not just brought into my life for a mountain rescue. Maybe it was so that I would finally chase my distant dream of joining search and rescue. Maybe it was to see how selfless others could be. Maybe it was to show me the nature of humanity...that there is still good in the world. Who knows?

Me and Tyler (the first rescuer to me)

Speaking of people being brought into your lives for different reasons, I met another fantastic person today. I took my mom, who hasn't been on skis in over thirty years, skiing today. I decided that we would start with lessons. I put her in a beginner lesson and myself in a more advanced lesson. There was only one other person in my group, he volunteers for Eugene Mountain Rescue. Eugene Mountain Rescue was also involved in our mission on Mt. Jefferson. I honestly do not think that it was chance that he was the only other skier on a busy weekend in my lesson group. I was able to personally thank him for all his work that weekend and to the rest of his teammates. He gave me some information on ways to become a part of a search and rescue team and also a pretty established climbing community in the area. We can think situations occur by chance but sometimes the signs are too obvious to miss.

To all of the individuals that worked so hard Thanksgiving weekend...I cannot thank you enough. You may never truly know or realize how much you mean to me and how much you have impacted my life. Forever Thanks!

P.S. I love you, Tommy. You are my heart and soul.

A Beautiful Beast

Picture by Danielle Peterson

 

Mt. Jefferson has always had my attention. From the first time I read about it to the when I first laid eyes upon her. She is a mountain that commands respect. She hides behind smaller buttes of the cascade mountain range, coyly showing just a glimpse of her summit to the unsuspecting people of the valley. She hides from the climber, the one persuing her…around one corner on the trail, there she stands in all her glory, then a few steps down the path and she is gone, slipping ever so silently behind another slope – like a game of cat and mouse. I feel like I can understand her. She is the second tallest mountain in Oregon. Mt Hood gets to claim rights to being the tallest. She lay hidden amongst the hills like an unwanted child. Mt. Hood proudly shines over Portland, Oregon and is photographed by hundreds on a daily basis. To her other side, lay the Sisters whom the people of Bend talk of so fondly. And Mt. Bachelor in the near distance with some of the best skiing in the Pacific Northwest. She is a jealous mountain. She is beautiful and knows it yet wants others to know her beauty, to know her pain. I know both.

 In the wake of Tommy’s death, I have been asked how I keep going, how I am not curled up in a ball in my bed every day, how I can look at the mountain that took my lover, how I am not a complete mess every second of every day. The simple answer: I stay busy. I have been keeping myself busy. Busy with what I like to call mini-missions. Sometimes the mini-mission is as small as finding a handkerchief that Tommy gave me. Nothing else in the world matters until this mini-mission is completed. I become like a horse with blinders on – solely focused on this one task at hand. In the last two months, just about every day has a separate mini-mission. However; I have noticed that in the last two weeks, my mini-missions have become fewer and further between. There has been a calling, a must-do, an innate drive…THE MISSION. I must complete our climb of Mt. Jefferson. I must climb the same route that we attempted to climb several times as lovers. I must stand on the summit of the very mountain that took my husband away from me. I must get Tommy to the summit. I must face this beautiful, resentful beast. Mt Jefferson has become my only mission. I have been training like a prized boxer about to enter a title fight. I have taken on training as if it is my profession. I eat, breathe, drink, and sleep mountains…more so  than ever before. This not only involves physical fitness but mental preparedness. Not only skills but trip planning. Not only gear but knowledge and experience. All of these things I have and will continue to work on until I summit Jefferson.

 

The more complex answer: I cannot fully put into words. I am a great pretender. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? I force a smile through the pain, through the heartache, through the loneliness, through the loss. Another part of this answer is, I do curl up in a ball in bed and cry every single night. I do want to sit in the dark, holding his clothes, looking at pictures, watching videos, and sobbing away the day. I don’t want to look at that mountain. I don’t want to live in “our house” without him. I do have moments where I want to be mad and angry at the world. I do. It is at these moments that I remember my goal of walking this journey with grace and my goal of summiting Mt. Jefferson with Tommy. I do believe both of these are possible. Possible…not necessarily easy.

 

Just today, I was out with a friend on a training hike near Mt. Hood. My mental game in the beginning of the day was not on par. I doubted myself. I didn’t want to be out there. I was tired. I was hurting. I was winded. All of these things raced through my mind. I tried to find my groove, my moving and walking state of meditation. I was able to find it…my mental block was that I was missing Tommy. Despite the good company and the amazing beauty that surrounded me today, I didn’t want to be there with anyone but him. I wanted to tell him stories and sing together like dorks. I just wanted to be there in that moment with him. I was able to find a little bit of comfort in my meditative state of “one foot in front of the other” by letting these sweet, sweet memories parade through my mind. That is when I heard it, “wop-wop-wop.” The sound was that of a helicopters blade, beating the air. The location: toward Mt. Hood. At this time, Mt. Hood was hidden from our view by a grey and ominous cloud that had rolled in moments ago. The sound mixed with my physical location of being out on a mountain in the snow, brought me back to that day in November. “Wop-wop-wop,” it continued to torment me. “Is that a helicopter? Do you see it?” I asked my friend. She agreed that it was a helicopter but could not spot it. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Mt. Hood for a few minutes; scanning the skyline. Then I would try to bring myself back to the present. I am okay. My friend is okay. We are okay. Let’s move on. Ten feet later, the sound still resonating in my ears, I stop again. I scan. I look. No sighting. The sound attempts to bring me back again, emotions pouring into my being as if a flood gate has been opened. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, slowly exhaling. I tell myself again, “I am okay.” I smile at my friend who knows nothing about my internal fight, and we plow on. Once I am able to stop being sucked into the past, my heart instantly goes out to someone, a stranger, someone I do not even know about. My gut instinct has told me that this is a search and rescue mission. I knew nothing other than a helicopter was flying around Mt. Hood. I hope this person is okay. I hope they aren’t hurt. I hope they aren’t scared. I hope they have comfort knowing that help is on the way. I hope. Again, I smile at my friend, crack a joke about how this hill work in the snow is kicking my butt, we laugh, and plow on.

We reached the top soon thereafter and soak in what little of the views the clouds have left us. We notice that if we traverse the ridgeline, we could hit two other peaks. We laugh at our idea but go for it. We follow some ski tracks over to the next summit, soak in the views and continue for the longer traverse to the third, losing and regaining the ridgeline. We gain the peak of the third summit and are greeted with Tibetan prayer flags strung from one tree to the next with a view across the valley toward Mt. Hood. We unroll our matt, open our plastic bottle of wine, and have our Taco Bell burritos. This is perfection. Then to our right, I notice a figure. Out of nowhere comes a man who looks like he is straight out of Santa Cruz, California but in snow gear and carrying a snowboard on his backpack. We all chat for awhile, talking about the way we got up here, how we are going down, where the movie “Wild” was filmed, and the successful rescue of a stranded hiker on Mt. Hood that just occurred. Whew. Instant relief filled my core. This stranger, this stranded hiker on Mt Hood that spent a night out in the cold on the side of the mountain, made that big of an impact on me. I know how scared he must have been. I know how hopeful he must have been. I know some of the things racing through his head during the night. I know. The news of his well being brought me comfort and joy. This news uplifted my spirit. I guess why I am telling you this story is because the struggle is real. I live in a world of constant reminders. Constant reminders of the pain, the last moments with my lover, the endless night on Jefferson. Constant reminders of the life we had. Constant reminders of the love we shared, the happiness, the sweetness. Every day I am facing something new, something painful. I have choices. I can let it completely consume me, become debilitating. Or I can smile through the pain and get to the top of that damned mountain.

 

A quote I read today that struck a major chord with me: "You go on by doing the best you can. You go on by being generous. You go on by being true. You go on by offering comfort to others who can't go on. You go on by allowing the unbearable days to pass and by allowing the pleasure in other days. You go on by finding a channel for your love and another for your rage." - Cheryl Strayed

 

P.S. I love you, Tommy. Forever in my heart and with me always.