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.