My last vision of John was 5 years ago. It was a quick nod, and then watching him
bush whack with his kayak down to a roaring flood stage river. I stood there in the rain until his helmet
disappeared behind the last tree. 60
minutes later my life would become abruptly different. John would be dead, but we would search for
him well into the next day. I knew
before I really knew. I mean, don’t we
all? It’s the same story every
time. Flood stage rivers are huge,
contain trees, bus eating holes, implode spray skirts, are completely
unpredictable, and kill people. The
river that day was climbing roughly 2000 CFS per hour. I remember reading the gauge on American Whitewater as we drove
towards the Smith that day and my fear alarm went off. I expressed my concern to him, “do you think
this is a good idea? We have no way of
knowing what its going to be like at the rate it's climbing.” I was told to relax, to let go of my
paranoia, that “THIS.WOULD.BE.EPIC.” Every
now and then I think to myself, in his last moments of life did the thought
ever occur to him, “my wife was right.” It
took me a long time to admit this to anyone.
I defended him for years, “he was perfectly capable of being out
there.” No, he wasn’t, no one was, and
every year on March 9th, I seem to go back to that, and then the
rage I’ve buried deep into my gut ignites. One must not stay this way for long.
John came to see me last night in my dreams. This time he had incurable cancer. I realized in this moment I would watch him
die all over again and felt instant sadness.
When John was alive, he was terrified of getting old and eventually
sick. He constantly talked about how he
did not want to grow old, and the thought of his body shutting down was frightening
to him. In the dream, he gave me all his
belongings, along with a letter that he told me to read once he was gone. He then gave me a huge hug, and told me
he was going to go summit a huge mountain so he could watch the sunrise for the
last time. I begged him to stay with me,
but he couldn’t, he had to get to the top of this mountain. He said with a big smile, “it will be epic.” I watched him leave, as I sat in a pile among
all his things, all over again.
I think those that go before us never are completely
gone. I think their energy stays with us
as we continue onward. We find them in
our dreams, in triggers that spark a memory, in our own frustrations or joys,
they are always there. John’s story was
always going to be this, he was never going to grow old, and somewhere in his
gut, I often feel that he knew this. I
think his drive to find his epic moments in life whether on the river or at the
top of a large mountain drove his heart.
For the longest time I internalized this and felt that I came second to
these moments. I’ve realized over the
years that this was John’s connection to his creator, to the source that put
him here. He felt his best in these
moments, because it was his connection to God, to the love that no human could
give him. The visual that there is
something beyond us. He had to have more
of that feeling, every day.
While the death of a loved one can stay with us every day,
there is something about a death date that can ask us to go back in time,
revisit the events of that day, reflect on decisions made, face regret over
words not said, find our inner rage over how quickly things were lost. After John left this world, I asked myself,
what is my version of epic? I’ve learned
with time that it does not quite look like his version, but its epic to me
because it is where I find my own peace, my own worth, my own purpose, my
connection to my creator. It doesn’t
involve Class 5 rivers anymore or 14,000-foot mountains, but I have a life in
the mountains that brings me joy and peace and that alone feels epic to
me. I realized for years I was living a life that spoke to John's epicness, not so much mine.
A few things I’ve learned over the years...
Don’t idolize people and let them take the place of
God. They are withering and so are you,
so am I. We make great humans, we don’t make great
Gods. John was my “God” for years, and
he was terrible at it, as he should be. When
we put people before the love light that put us here, we tend to feel
completely lost when those people leave us.
We feel that we can’t survive without them, yet we can, and we must when
they are gone.
When something doesn’t feel right, speak. When you have something to say, speak. I found my voice after John died, just ask my
husband Tristan. Look at your husbands,
look at your wives and speak. When you
have an argument with your partner, argue with passion and complete
vulnerability, with complete openness to each other. This is how you survive together, how you
connect to something bigger together.
Love yourself. Love
sitting with yourself. Find moments of
solitude and silence every day. If you
love others more than you love yourself, you may not be able to love others
without fear. Loving yourself is not
selfish, it’s essential to connect to something bigger. Loving yourself allows your partner to see
your most authentic self. When we see
that in each other, we see God.
When someone leaves this world, when they leave you and you loved them,
recognize that their death is their story, it is not fully yours, it’s simply a
part of your life experience. Sometimes
we have to cast off our ego to recognize the difference between those two
worlds. People use to refer to me as
“John’s widow.” I found comfort in this
for a while, because I idolized him. I realized at some point that I was never
his, and he was never mine, we both belong to something greater. We’re all here independently and the love we
find for another is a beautiful part of the life experience, and that is here and now.
Feelings of anger towards others, energy towards
confrontation, rage over something in the past, this puts you into a karmic
cycle that you will revisit over and over again until you resolve it. When we choose these feelings, we choose to
carry that energy within us. We carry
the burden of negativity. This affects
us both emotionally and physically and it pulls us further and further away
from the love light that put us here. Cast off your ego. Let.It.GO. Love each other. Love yourself. Love your Creator.
My day of epicness consisted of a long slush snow hike with my
love Tristan and our two dogs, a tag team on the much-needed cleaning of our
house, lunch with some friends, and sitting in the quietness of our house by a
fire. Tristan met me wherever I decided
to be today, but he didn’t carry the burden of John’s death, because it’s not
his to carry and its not mine either.
I will always and forever love my husband John. I miss
him every day, and when I’m not here anymore, I look forward to a real hug from
him, wherever that may be beyond all of this. He lived a life of adventure and it
was fun to watch him connect with something bigger every time he pushed off
onto a river. He found his epicness. I am finding mine every day. Don't try and live someone else's epic life, go find yours and speak truth to it.
