"Actually, the best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures." Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.
Dear John,
I finally found you among the most beautiful river this past
week. I’ve been searching for even the smallest
glimpses of you for the past few years. I look for you on every river, every trail,
the trees and mountains, through music and good recipes, in my dreams, in those
that knew you so well and even those that never did. I seem to always come up empty handed, wondering so desperately where your spirit is
in each moment that passes, what purpose you now serve, and if you remember your life here. Even now, do you ever find yourself feeling disabled the way that I still do, as
if you are missing a limb or a lung? I would hope that the soul feels no pain, no regrets, yet the human side of me would rather you carry this burden with me.
I finally returned to Southern Oregon this past week for a
four day self-support trip down the Wild and Scenic section of the Rogue river. It was a few years ago that I left our life
behind and fled, and I have to tell you, it is the one place I’ve avoided since
you left this world. This place we once
called home is still so incredibly beautiful, yet can have a way of placing a weight
so heavy on my chest I feel as if I can’t breathe at times, so I’ve stayed away
for years. Southern Oregon reminds me
that it wasn’t so long ago that you were very much real, that I was once a wife,
and our life was just beginning in a new town with new friends and new adventures. So I returned to this past life this week
feeling anxious and vulnerable, for there were no distractions from what once
was, and I knew I had to sit with that for the first time in a long time. I
felt small pings in my chest as we flew over Mt. Shasta, and the endless
Douglas firs that appeared below the clouds.
I knew immediately you were here.
You were so present on the river that I felt speechless at
times. Everything about who you were and
what you stood for I saw and felt in the current, each rapid, even in the explosions
of unpredictable boils among the canyon that sent me into out of control spins. It was high water on the Rogue. I knew you felt my anxiousness and the fear in my chest when you
appeared at the bottom of each rapid, reminding me that “this is IT Erin, the
only thing that can stop you from conquering each move through each rapid is yourself.” So I tried hard to embrace
the current, let it have its way with me, and let go of this need to control
everything. I pictured you up ahead through each rapid, making each move look so easy. I remembered what it felt like to follow your orange boat and the trust I always put in you with each run. You were with me.
The scenery and wild
life made constant statements to me that we’ve made this world way too
complicated. We’re so caught up in what
is happening next that we can’t see God’s manifestation in everything all
around us. We seem to miss the fact that
our creator wants to bless us in every moment, but we limit this incredible
love with our own blindness. We can’t
hear these small miracles happening all around us because our eyes are so far
ahead. We don’t know how to unplug and
let go of our obsession with technology, social media, other people’s
lives. We struggle to sit with ourselves
and listen. You reminded me this past week that you never lived this way, and while it may never have been spoken between us, I now know that you saw God everywhere. You
took one day at a time, you stayed present when I did not. You saw and heard the things I could not
because I was caught up in total distraction.
I believe I saw for the first time this past week what you were always
able to see and it was beautiful. You
allowed me to see the world around me through your eyes this week, and it became so much more clear than what I saw with mine.
Everything I needed was found in a family of friends, my
kayak, a tent and a good book. I became
a part of a river family that worked together every day to move safely down the
river together and live each day within a community among the river banks. We unloaded, set-up camp, cooked food, and
re-loaded together every day as a team.
There were no other distractions or agendas we had to follow. I laughed my ass off and learned how to let
go again and be silly. I got to be a kid
again. It was so simple. We all unplugged together.
I saw you in all of these people every day and the way they
choose to live. You told me to really
look at these individuals and let them be an example to me. I think for the first time I really
understood what you wanted all along for us, why you chose this unique place
for us to move to together. You and your
way of life was everywhere along the beautiful Rogue and I felt so grateful to
spend this time with you, remembering you and honoring the man that you were
and the evident energy I know in my heart you now carry.
You demanded my presence and respect this week for how
precious life is, and how temporarily we are here. I looked hard at my own life and reflected on
just how big God is and how much I have to be grateful for. While re-visiting our past, I missed Tristan more than I ever have and the life I now have with him. I felt home sick for him. It became even more apparent while searching
for glimpses of you that Tristan’s love is so huge and so giving and so pure. Over time, his kindness and patience has
healed my broken heart in ways I never thought were possible. I felt as if you were reminding me that this
love is here right now in the present, and somehow through the pain I’ve
carried over the years, this love happened
to still find me, and it was always supposed to. He will never be you, and you will never be
him, but what confluences all of us together is simply love. I think you've wanted me to see this all along.
During my time on the Rogue, you asked me to recognize this love, acknowledge it's rareness and respect my
life right now with Tristan, for it is withering just like we were. You once again reminded me to stay present
and participate in this love that is so alive, for it could be gone at any moment. You helped me to see that deeper courage
comes from allowing the heart to love without limitations and comparisons. Deeper courage comes from allowing new love
in regardless of the pain, instead of staying stuck in a past that is dead. I now see
this more clearly.
I and others carried what is left of the physical presence
of you this week every day, searching for just the right place to let you
go. We held you together and embraced
each other as we let you go over the beautiful clear water fall that merges
with the powerful Rogue river. The
roaring sound of the water fall as you dropped over it’s edges reminded me that
you are no longer imprisoned in your flesh or limited by your body. I believe you can do anything now. I recognized in that moment that it is not
your purpose to constantly remember this
life time with me, for these are feelings of the flesh, not the soul. Your purpose is far beyond that. I have to believe that others that choose to embark on this trip away from the distraction and chaos of this world will always be
affected by your energy out there. This
energy will make others better, it will make our world better.
You belong in Southern Oregon my love, and I truly believe
it's where your spirit now ventures. It
is where you were the happiest and best version of yourself and I will always
be so grateful that you found such a wonderful spot to rest and radiate such
incredible love and energy to others. I
am so grateful for the time I was able to spend with you on this trip, and for
the knowledge you revealed to me during my time on the river.
So to you dear John, thank you for visiting me along the
beautiful Rogue and reminding me that your love is not gone, and you have
not forgotten those of us that look for you everywhere. In fact it is just the opposite. Your adventurous spirit demands our presence and respect for these beautiful rare
places. It is in these places that we
find you and experience and remember everything you were and are now.
I return to my current life a little more clear of my intentions in
this world, and a better appreciation and respect for the few places left in
our world that allow us to adventure, explore, and completely unplug.
Thank you John.
I love you always and forever,
Erin.
