Lori

I met Lori while paddling the North Fork of the Smith River in Northern California in January 2014.  I had never been on a river as beautiful as this one and Lori happened to be in the large group that John and I joined that day.  We were still very new to Oregon and were invited to go on this trip on a beautiful winter Sunday.  It was a wonderful day on the river with so many friendly people that immediately welcomed us into the group.  Lori and I exchanged numbers that day.  I knew immediately I wanted to be her friend.  She was every person’s cheerleader that day and literally smiled through every rapid.  If someone felt nervous or gripped, you’d see Lori paddling over to them, telling them they were capable of getting through each rapid.  She had an energy to her that was contagious to others and her laugh could be heard throughout the entire canyon that day.  I needed more of that in my life.

       

Shortly after this trip, John lost his life on the upper South Fork of the Smith River.  John went missing around 12pm on March 9th.  After search and rescue called it quits around 9pm that evening, and after Jared and I called it quits around midnight, we called those within the kayaking community for help.  Lori showed up the next morning around 4am to help search for John.  She was the only female in the group of four that found him and led the rescue mission.  She was one of the main reasons that his body was recovered from the river allowing me to see him and touch him and kiss him one last time. What Lori had to go through that day, I simply could not.  Lori quickly became someone I looked up to and developed a deep respect for on and off the river as a woman that held her own.

Lori showed up at my house about a week after losing John in her beat up truck with additional girls, her ukulele, wine and ice cream.  She stayed with me for a few weeks, and did everything from walking my dog Jake to watering my plants, cooking meals, laundry, to just sitting with me in silence.    I met some of my best friends because of Lori.  In my shock and anger and grief and devastation, Lori surrounded me with strong minded women that poured their love and support into me as if we had known each other for centuries.  These women became my family out west and to this day are loves of my life.

When I felt brave enough to get back in my boat again and paddle the last river John and I had paddled together, Lori led the mission and rallied these warrior women to paddle along side me.  They all stood with me as I climbed the rock John and I had last sat together and released his ashes.  It was a moment of honor and respect from these women and the river that I will never forget.

A year later, Lori who had never mountain biked explored an epic 15 mile red wood trail mission with me in Northern California.  This was the kind of riding where you climb forever in hopes of finding a rewarding down hill.  She had no bike helmet so she wore her kayak helmet instead.  She made the entire thing look easy that day.

Lori took John with her to the Grand Canyon and made a point to spread him in the most beautiful places.

Lori took me on my first multi-day river trip on the Wild and Scenic Rogue River in Oregon.  She gave me a boat, gear, and paddled along side me in those moments were I felt John so close.  She did a 13 mile hike with me just so we could find the perfect water fall to release more of John.  Every single person on this trip made me feel like family and the love and excitement they had for the beauty all around us was something I had to get more of.  Lori always seemed to be in the center of that energy.

When I think about my dear friend, she truly picked me up off of the ground when I couldn’t pick myself up.  We had only met each other once before John’s death and exchanged numbers, yet she showed up and did the unthinkable when I could not.  She treated me like a sister and helped me feel alive again.  When breathing hurt, Lori told me to keep breathing, keep paddling, keep exploring, find my next adventure.  Lori knew how to bring women together.  She understood the importance of this incredible bond and it was something I took with me when I moved to Fayetteville.  It was something I kept close to my heart when I left Oregon.  It is a value that changed me and really made me into the woman I discovered after losing my first husband.  Surround yourself with badass women always.  I would not have survived without Lori’s love and friendship and I am so grateful for the life long friendships I made through her.  

I miss my friend.  I don’t want to live in a world without Lori.  I feel angry, empty, guilty and shocked by the loss of her.  Lori was always there for me when I needed her.  Her excitement for life, adventure and laughter was contagious.  I always wanted more of it when I was around her.  She knew how to make people laugh, yet she was the kind of friend you wanted around in your darkest moments.  To be both of those to someone is an art and takes a different soul.  Lori had that.  She was always a woman I wanted to be more like.   

Lori, I love you and I am so sorry.   You will always be a warrior woman to me and every time I walk among the trees, I’ll remember you dear friend.  I picture you now smiling, with all your curly red hair, pushing off into a river, laughing the entire way down each rapid.  We all need more of that and I am so grateful to have known your wild soul.  I love you always and forever.  

Epic

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 9^th, 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. 

A Safe Place, A Happy Place

“Love has inflicted so many pains on me, but that’s how my life became blessed.”  Rumi

After losing our second baby in November, I felt defeated with my body.  Two emergency surgeries within 4 months due to two ectopic pregnancies now in two different tubes.  These facts were pretty much unheard of according to case studies, my doctor, the hospital.  Yet they were my facts that encompassed me and my experience with pregnancy.  The day of Thanksgiving I sat on our couch reading a story that a good friend had sent me about a woman that had a near death experience and saw the image of a little girl twirling on her feet while holding her hands.  Years later she adopted a little girl who later twirled on her feet while holding her mother’s hands.  The little girl told her mother that she was always hers, she just couldn’t get to her through her belly, as her body could not do it.

I read this story to Tristan and sobbed.  Well, truthfully I ugly cried hard into his beard while he wrapped his arms around me and let me use his face as my new handkerchief.  We talked about the facts and what this meant for our future.  Pregnancy had transitioned from what was supposed to be a beautiful experience to something that was now potentially life threatening to me.  We had no answers as to why this was happening, no one did.  We talked about the options of IVF, IUI, genetic testing, etc.  None of it felt right to us.  I personally did not feel pulled to even consider it.  We both felt strongly that God was asking us to go a different way, take a new path.

I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know a few women over the last year who have had their own pregnancy struggles.  These women took a different path and still found their children.  I find strength in their stories, and many of these women have become such a wonderful support to me in my own journey.  They are strong women, and incredible mothers.

Tristan and I are going to be foster parents.  It feels good to say that.  We’ve been in the process for about a month now and over the next few months, we’ll complete a series of classes, certifications, and home studies so that we’re available to help when the time comes.  What we have discovered so far about foster children in West Virginia is heart breaking.  We feel these children will imprint on us just as much as we hope to make a positive imprint on them.  I believe we may save each other.

I think about the two souls I lost within me every day.  I think about John every day.  As we’ve slowly started to tell people about this new journey, some often say “I could never do that, losing those children back to their parents would be just too hard after getting attached.”  I’m starting to feel that my experiences with loss may actually make me perfect for this role, a role I was probably always meant to take on.  I believe it is a role meant for Tristan and his huge heart too.  I think we both know how to love without fear, for we're all withering, we're all temporary, so why hold back.

I plan to share our story with others as we move through it.  I plan to be as honest as I can be in hopes that others may feel called to do this as well one day.  There is a huge need.  There are many children.  There are many misconceptions with these children.  They are, just children, some way beyond their years for the experiences they've endured.  Knowing some of their stories already, I feel blessed in my own pain experiences, for it is nothing compared to them.

For now, I've enjoyed sitting in this room in our house quietly while the rain comes down, praying over the child that I believe is coming to us in God's perfect timing.  This is a safe place, a happy place, where a child can find joy, laughter, and peace with the mountains right outside their door, even in the midst of pain.  I know Tristan and I will give everything we have to lead them to that experience.

Thank you to my mom and sisters for helping me create such a fun and peaceful room.  Warrior women, I love you.

Just Keep Swimming

I saw my first husband John twice over the last month.  The first time, I woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of a campfire.  I turned to my left and and there lay John right beside me.  I admit this stunned me at first, seeing my late husband in bed beside myself and my husband Tristan.  That's a lot of husband juggling.  Yes you can laugh.  He looked exactly as I remembered him.  He even smelled the same, like sweat and burning wood.  I reached out and touched him and he felt warm on my hands.  I pulled away at first, wondering if I was just so deep in a dream that I couldn’t grasp what was real and what wasn’t.  I reached out again and he was still there, as solid as could be.  John to my left and Tristan to my right.  I left my hand on his chest this time, I could feel his chest rising and falling, I could even feel his heart beating.  Upon realizing that he wasn’t fading away just yet, I inched in closer and wrapped my arms around his chest.  John wrapped his arms tightly around me, and we just laid there in silence, both of us rising and falling to the deep breathes coming from his chest.  All this occurring while snuggled tightly against Tristan.  One may question if this was OK, a strange situation like this one, but I felt content, snuggled between two men that I love.  It didn’t feel wrong at the time, oddly, it felt normal.  I recognized this as another rare and unique visit from him that would soon fade. One that I would look back on when I needed to. 

A few days later I woke up in the early hours of the morning again to the smell of burning wood.  I looked to my right and there was John again, this time standing on our balcony just outside of our bedroom.  His hands were in his pockets, and he was just staring at me.  He had a look of concern, yet John was always so stoic, even in the most care free moments, he could look serious.  I rubbed my eyes and looked again, he was still there, looking right at me.  We’ve had a few encounters like this over the years, I don’t know if it happens to be two different dimensions somehow colliding, but I have been lucky enough to find John in the wee hours of the morning in a stare down every now and then.  I am always happy to stare back, wondering what it is he needs to say.

You know your husband is about as rock solid as they come when you inform him that the two of you possibly shared a bed and snuggle the other night with your previous husband and he doesn't even bat an eye.  Tristan Borgeson is a solid human being. 

A few days later, I witnessed a man approach his death right after getting off the river.  It was a beautiful day on the Gauley that ended in a very steep and strenuous hike.  This young man collapsed shortly after finishing this climb.  When it became clear that he was not going to make it, and that his heart was going to get the better of him, I found myself calling out to John and asking him to come help this person.  While they didn’t know each other, they both had a deep love for the river we had just paddled.  I don’t know what happens when we leave our bodies, but I’d like to imagine that someone is there to guide you to the next phase.  I’m not sure if my John had that.  A few days after John's death, he appeared in my doorway in the middle of the night, still draped in his kayak gear.  He looked sad and confused.  This broke my heart at the time, for whatever he was going through, whatever transition was taking place, I could not help him.  I was frozen, separated from where he was, as if a see through wall was placed between us.  I didn’t want that for this man, so I asked John to come help him. 

The next day I went kayaking with my husband Tristan and some close friends.  I could not get this man out of my head and what he went through at the end.  I had heard many locals say what a nice person he was and how loved he was by the river community.  I was struggling with understanding why things like this happen to young people like him, and once again revisiting why John lost his life at such a young age.  About mid-way through this run, I came through one of the harder rapids and just to the left on the river bank, two blue herons stood side by side.  As I locked eyes with these beautiful birds, the two in unison took off and flew down to the next rapid.  Those two herons stayed together and flew ahead of our group the rest of the way.  As I'd approach each rapid, they'd watch, then fly ahead, waiting for us to arrive to the next rapid.  As I made it to the take-out and slid my boat into the sand, I watched the two one last time fly off together until they disappeared around the bend.

A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant for the second time.  We felt like this time was going to be different.  It was going much smoother, until it wasn’t anymore.   I don’t think I allowed myself to attach to this one the way I did the first time, but it still felt like my lungs were being squeezed shut upon finding out we would lose this one too and there is nothing we could do to reverse that.  I feel sad, ashamed, even somewhat embarrassed about the whole situation.  I’ve reclused to my house in the woods for the last few days, throwing myself into work and a serious heating pad while the gauntlet throws down in my uterus.  I was even asked earlier this week if Tristan and I have kids, and then given the full talk on how wonderful it is when I told them we did not.  I wondered how this person would feel if I said, “You know, we have two.  One that about exploded in my Fallopian tube a few months ago and one that is making it’s exit from my uterus as we speak.  We could not be more proud.”   Too far?

Through all of this, we had the mid-term elections as well as everyone knows.  My state voted yes for Amendment 1.   When a pregnancy is ectopic, the pregnancy must be terminated, because the mother’s life is at stake and the baby cannot survive in the tube.  I will be in and out of more ultra sounds and blood work every 48 hours for the next week, maybe longer,  just to ensure that this one is not once again stuck in my tube which requires immediate surgery.    Believe me, knowing that you have no choice but to end your pregnancy because that pregnancy can kill you is punishing enough.  If there was anyway at all that my kid could have survived, even if it meant something debilitating for me, I would have done it without any thought.  Having no option but to end that pregnancy months ago is something I have to live with for the rest of my life.  No woman can forget that.  The possibility of my insurance not covering it, or it even being in debate, I can’t wrap my brain around that.  I hope no woman has to face that.

I’m writing about this not because I want your sympathy or any kind of political debate.  To each their own.  Women don’t talk about this enough and I need to talk about it.  I think many women feel scared and alone through their miscarriage and through the termination of any pregnancy.  Women go to work while this is happening, carry on conversations and forced smiles, take care of other children while they feel like their insides are in a boxing match and they can feel that soul leaving them.  I'd love to see women feel completely empowered to share their stories so others can be more informed, so both sides can listen to each other.  Even with Tristan by my side through every step of the way, what seems to help the most through these two losses, is hearing from other women that have gone through this.  I’ve heard stories that are so much worse than mine.  Women that have lost 3, 4, 5 pregnancies; women that simply can’t have children; women that have tried for years and years with no luck.  One of my dear friends almost lost her life over an ectopic pregnancy.  I know women that have had to deliver still born babies.  That is not my story.  I consider myself one of the luckier ones.  I actually can get pregnant pretty easily, so far, I just can't seem to keep them.  My heart hurts with these women, and I also admire them for sharing their stories with me.

My late husband John seems to come see me when things are coming in my life, both good and bad. I think he likes to remind me that he’s still here, just around the bend, and all is well.  Thank you John.  Tristan and I will keep trying, because that’s all we can do.  That's all any couple can do that is struggling with this.  As Dory says in Finding Nemo, "just keep swimming."  We'll keep speaking to that and putting the intention out there to the universe.  

When we become parents, and we will, I'll go back to those rare and unique visits from John and thank him.  When he visits, I'll note it, staying present with whatever is coming our way.  Maybe next time I’m on the river, I’ll look for three herons.  I'd like to imagine that John was there for both of ours, moving on ahead of us, but really just around the bend. To all the women out there, I hope you just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

9 out of 10

The police brought a trash bag of everything they had removed from him before I saw him.  In the bag were his belongings, including a helmet, a dry top, a life jacket, dry pants, a few layers of shirts and long johns, his shoes, and a spray skirt.  Hours later, I would take these items and hang them on our outside line to dry, like I had done dozens of times before.  They would bake in the sun, and then be thrown into a gear tote, just like the many times before.

 Lifeless and cold, he still looked perfect.  Not a hair out of place.  I could no longer stand so I just laid over him, stroking his hair, holding his hands.  I kissed his eyes, his cheeks and his lips, I grabbed his face and pulled it close to mine.   My hands we're so cold from touching him, and I just kept pressing them to my cheeks afterward on my way home.  I wanted the coldness to seep into my bones and stay with me forever.  

 I've had this reoccurring dream for over 4 years now where I find out that John never really died, but instead he just went somewhere else.  He has a different family, a different job (one time he was a mail man), a completely different life.  I can never make it to him in this dream, someone always just informs me with photos and video footage.  It's always a good friend in the dream that approaches me with, "Erin, we've been meaning to tell you something.."  In one dream I remember screaming at John on the phone about how friends and family had completed a river clean up for years in his honor, yet this whole time he was alive somewhere else, how selfish can he be!  In the dream I always feel confused, irritated, even panicked.  What is real?  Is he in some other parallel universe living a different life?  For years I would dream about his death, my dreams would manifest into many different scenarios of what could have possibly happened to him that day.  I would wake up drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, panicked. I rehashed his death with friends for years.  What happened, why did it happen, how could it have happened, this was John we're talking about.  He had more endurance and athleticism than most people I've met.  He had a stoicism to him that seemed to always stay consistent, even when shitty things happened.  He showed no reaction to physical pain.  Many other's always felt safe and confident with him. 

                                        John and Harrison, Z-Drag Rescue, Top Yough, 2012

                                             John, 20 Footer, Blackwater, Broken Nose, Spring 2013

                                                        A few hours later, and still smiling.

John was frugal to a fault at times.  If he could fix it, or make it himself, he would always do that before spending money.  I actually loved this about him and always found it to be such an attractive quality.  For years, when we lived in Richmond, John's "dry top" consisted of a cheap splash top, and his version of a neck gasket was a trash bag wrapped around his neck with duct tape.  He created a throw bag out of a potato sack.  John would purchase cheap, beat up paddles for $20, and then try and fix them with epoxy.  These paddles would always end up snapping.  I got John a brand new Kokatat dry top when we lived in Virginia, I couldn't bare the trash bag anymore.  I bought him a rescue vest when we moved to Oregon.  His dad bought him a nice paddle meant for creek boating.  John never purchased these things for himself, he'd just try and fix what he had.  The one thing that I never did purchase for him was a spray skirt.  John always wore a black mountain surf skirt that he had when I met him back in 2008.  He bought this skirt back in 2004 when he started kayaking.  I remember seeing him in our garage in Oregon over the winter placing aqua seal over the holes that had appeared on this skirt from years and years of use.  By the beginning of 2014, this skirt had been in use by John on powerful rivers and water falls for almost 10 years.  

 I found out a few days ago that John died because of a simple piece of gear completely failing him.  4 1/2 years later.  His spray skirt imploded after attempting to punch a large hole, leaving him with no choice but to swim on a river where swimming simply was not an option that day.  I always thought that if this day came for me, where I would finally know the truth, that somehow I would feel better.  I would receive some kind of closure and understanding that would put me at ease.  I would no longer have to live my entire life wrestling with every possible outcome.  This phone call, this new piece of information in the puzzle of March 9th 2014 really didn't do any of those things.  Instead, it just pushed me into a downward spiral of emotions and stress that I haven't had to visit in years.  It's the kind of news that takes you right back to that moment where everything shifted, where life would be different forever.  That stupid saying, "The truth will set you free."  Will it?  I felt like this truth suddenly imprisoned me.  I found myself back in our Oregon home, laying on my back paralyzed, staring at John in the door way, stuck in his gear, confused and sad all over again.  I felt enraged, and my rage spiraled towards him.

Living in the New River Gorge, I am surrounded by incredible athletes.  People that live here are passionate about what they do whether its kayaking, rafting, river surfing, mountain biking, rock climbing, trail running.  All of these sports require you to trust your gear.  A rock climber that goes out to climb with a faulty rope or harness could easily fall to their death.  You can't put on the lower new at 10 feet with a shitty spray skirt or a helmet that doesn't stay on your head.  Without these things working the way they are supposed to, not only are we putting ourselves at major risk, we put others at risk too.  

Invest in your gear, and talk to your friends if you notice they are wearing gear that is just not safe.  Don't donate shitty gear for someone else to purchase that is brand new to a sport.   If you don't have full confidence in the gear that allows you to do what you love, than buy new gear or don't go.  

Had John been wearing a newer skirt meant for creek boating, things would probably have turned out quite differently that day.  But he didn't, he had a 10 year old bungee skirt on that was way too loose, worn out over years and years of use, old holes patched more than once.  This was a piece of gear that was just not capable of doing what he needed it to do that day.  

Tristan and I have John's skirt now hung up in our own gear closet, never for anyone to use, but as a reminder of what happened to him and how easily that can happen to us and those we care about if we don't take accountability.  I can only hope that by sharing his story, other's will do the same.  9 out of 10 times, maybe it will be OK.  For John, it was OK for years, until it wasn't.  I did not want to write about this, or go back in time, but I have to.  I think John needs me to, and I need to for myself for if it makes someone think twice about that crappy helmet they've had for years, or the skirt with holes in it, or the rope that has worn with use, I'm good with that.   

James River, VA, 2008, same skirt

James River, VA, 2009, same skirt

John, Upper Gauley, WV, 2010, same skirt

John, James High Water, VA, 2011, same skirt

John, "Grace Under Pressure," Class 5, Great Falls, VA, 2012, same skirt

                                       

        North Fork Smith, California, 2013, same skirt

    

John, Chetco Wildnerness, Oregon, Class 5, February 2014, same skirt.  John died 10 days later.

Don't be another 9 out of 10 story.  Think about not only yourself, but your family, your close friends.  Don't let them come visit you in a morgue because you were too stubborn to finally cave and buy what you needed to.  Check everything, and then double check it again, and then triple check it.  Be safe out there and watch out for each other.  

We Love You

A few years ago I was having dinner with one of my closest friends and her 3-year old at the time, Henry.  In the middle of dinner Henry looked up at me and said, “Erin, John is gone.  He went away didn’t he?”  I looked down at this little boy and said, “Well, yes he did, I suppose he did go away.”  He then said, “He’s just somewhere else.  You’re here, and John’s there.”  As the lump in my throat grew bigger during this conversation with a toddler, Henry then said, “One day you will write a book.”  I looked at him somewhat stunned.  His mom chimed in and said, “Well what will the book be about Henry?”  He said, “It will be a book about Erin.”  He then went right back to telling me how the noodles he was eating looked a lot like snakes, and the conversation of John and my future was over.

Every now and then I think back to that conversation with Henry.  He was only 3 years old at the time.  Whenever an adult comes up to me and tells me I should write a book, I always go back to Henry, the first person that ever told me that.  If I ever do, I’ll be sure to thank Henry first.

I believe that children have more wisdom and intuition than we give them credit for.  When my sister was barely 2 years old, she was playing on her toy telephone.  She looked up at my mom and said, “I’m talking to your dad.”  My mom said, “Oh Pop Pop?”  (My mom’s step dad).  My sister said, “No, your real dad.  He told me to tell you that he loves you.”  My mom’s real dad had died years ago, and my sister wasn’t even born when that happened. 

I believe that children (especially very young children) were just recently where we adults all came from.  I think they have a connection back to our creator that is real, it’s a connection that so many of us lose over time as we grow older and become more exposed to our chaotic world.  I think we tend to forget where we came from, and with time we lose the knowledge we were born with.  When I see someone that is so broken and hurting and lost, I always say to myself, “let them remember where they came from.”  When we can remember, love enters.

I found out I was pregnant Monday night, June 18^th.  I had been feeling strange all day at work.  Bloated, exhausted, constipated, my boobs were sore, and that lovely time of the month had not arrived.  I had a meeting that went late so was staying in Charleston that evening.  We wrapped up around  9:30pm and I decided to drive to Target and buy a pregnancy test.  I was staying with a family friend that evening, and in their basement bathroom I sat there impatiently waiting as the test worked it’s magic.  About 3 minutes later, I saw those 2 lines appear and just like that, life simply felt different.   Around 11pm I called my husband and said, “I knew it!”  Tristan in his more grounded wisdom kept encouraging me to not get too excited yet, wait and take another test and let’s go see a doctor.   Well, of course I couldn’t contain it and I just sat up until about 1am laughing, crying, and of course starting to plan because that’s what I do. 

I found out Monday June 18^th I was going to be a mom.  Only 10 days later, I found out Wednesday June 27^th that I was absolutely heading towards a miscarriage.  I’ll spare you all the gruesome details, but I started having complications only a few days after getting that positive result that pretty much kept me on my back with the exception of attending  my nieces baptism for over a week.  I couldn’t go to work, I could do very little activity, and all we could do was wait and hope for the best.  We were in and out of doctor offices doing blood work for over a week.  We even switched doctors through the process because we felt like we were too much in the dark with what was actually happening.  Tristan and I even turned to Dr. Google (not a good decision) through this process just trying to understand if this may turn out OK.

 I've learned through this process that when you do miscarry, it can take weeks for the pregnancy hormones to leave your body so essentially your body thinks you are still pregnant and you get all those lovely first trimester symptoms, but with no baby on the way.  I am still going through this now and probably will be for the next week. Women go to work while this is happening, they take care of other kids, they continue on with daily life. 

I hesitated to share my story, as many times this is such a private thing.  On the other hand, I have some things to say about this journey, and decided to write about this as it’s happening now, and share my experience so far because I think it’s important for people, especially other women to hear the stories that don’t always end in a fairy tale and know that it happens to a lot of women, and it doesn’t mean you won’t have a healthy pregnancy in your future. I've discovered through my own miscarriage that this happens to so many women, sometimes more than once.  I talked with some brave, amazing girlfriends that shared their stories with me, putting me at ease with what was going on with my body and what to expect.  I also learned that it doesn’t matter if it’s 5 weeks, 2 weeks, 12 weeks, or worse, you feel connected to that soul before you even see the positive line and when you lose them it hurts like hell.  I knew women that had miscarried and I always thought to myself.  “That’s so sad, but it happens, they didn’t know that baby yet, and they’ll get pregnant again, they’ll be OK.”  I was so wrong about that.

 Tristan and I shared what was happening with us with some of our closest people because we believe in the power of putting intention towards something that needs a divine shift.  I begged and pleaded with God over the last week, but I also knew that the place I came from and the place my son or daughter came from see’s the future that I simply cannot.  I continued to talk to my kid through this entire process.  Tristan and I both placed our hands on my belly, we played binaural beats on my belly, hell I even let him put a purple crystal on my forehead.  I would have done anything.  I told them that if they needed to go I understand, but selfishly I want them to stay.  I told them about myself, their dad, their grandparents, aunts and uncles and the incredible people they’d be surrounded with throughout their life.  I told them they would always be loved, and Tristan and I would do everything we could to support them through their purpose while they’re here. 

I have to admit I felt defeated this week.  I felt like my body had failed me, and I had failed my kid.  My hats off to you parents out there.  The feeling of failing a child that was probably the size of a rice grain left me in tears.  I can't imagine what it actually feels like when they are standing right in front of you.  On the other hand, I am grateful for the experience.  I felt what it was like to be pregnant only for a short time, and even through all the not so fun symptoms, I felt connected to something in a way that I never have, and for that experience alone I feel ecstatic about. 

I recently heard someone say that “The foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom and the weakness of God is greater than human strength.” 

I believe it.  I have to remember where I came from during this shift, for it is so much wiser and stronger than I could ever be, and it’s love is beyond anything I am capable of.  My child was never really mine, it belongs to the light that I believe loves me more than I’ll ever be able to love anyone.  I rest easy feeling confident that's where they are now.  

Thank you for your encouraging thoughts and prayers this week.  To the women that bravely shared their stories, thank you.  To my husband who is the most positive person I know, I adore you.  Finally, to my child, thank you for choosing us even if it was for such a short time, I so hope we can meet you one day, we love you. 

To Oregon

Oregon,

I make my way back to you tonight.  It has been almost 2 years since my last visit to your rolling green mountains and majestic waterfalls.  Never had I seen a place with such breath taking beauty until I found you.  You have the kind of beauty that is so dramatic and so mesmerizing, so many times I felt as if you were not real.  Surely we had not landed in this place for our new home.  We vacationed to places like this, we didn’t get to live in places like this.  Yet with patience and determination, we found our way to you, a home nestled in the rolling green mountains packed with Douglas Firs.  You Oregon made me feel like an outdoor kid on Christmas Day every day.  Driving to work watching the sun scrape over your mountain peaks that were actually volcanos at rest.  Paddling your rivers that were so clear that 10 feet to the bottom looked like 2 feet.  Your water was so clean I could drink right from your streams.  Mountain biking through green mossy trails bordered with fluffy green walls felt like a scene from Star Wars.  I felt grateful when I walked your trails, lighter, with a view point permanently imprinted on me.  I would never settle for less after seeing you and spending time with you.  You set the bar quite high.

Why couldn’t that had been enough?  I wanted you to be beautiful, a chapter in my life that was an adventure of outdoor heaven, and that is all.  Yet with your beauty came incredible pain.  Pain that crippled me, imprisoned me.   I felt that my view point was suddenly skewed, and for a while I could not see your beauty.  I felt heavy when near you.  Suddenly you were this place that took everything from me.  I saw darkness on your mountains, in your rivers, there was nothing majestic about you anymore.   So I left you, I gave up on the adventure, I got as far away from you as I could, I thought I may never return.

Thank God for time.  The perception of time and space helps us grow stronger and let go of those pain shackles we feel obligated to carry when we lose a part of ourselves.

 I could not avoid you for the rest of my life.  I knew in my heart that my other half stayed with you, a part of me was with you.   I come back to you each time remembering your original imprint on me, breathing in your fresh air, feeling grounded on your trails.  I feel him when I am with you, he is everywhere, for you Oregon are where he was always supposed to be, where he can now rest.  A visit to you is a visit to him.  I feel my past life asking for my attention as I get closer and closer to your mountains.  I heard his voice this evening as I closed my eyes on the plane say “Remember why we came here Erin.”  I think remembering this in my current life, remembering this with these new chapters are so important.  So, I’ll lay aside the distractions of day to day life, and I’ll recharge myself on your mountain tops.  I’ll remember him as I visit you, and everything he was and still is.  Present, respectful, immersed in nature.  I’ll go back in time so that I may recharge and find my balance again.

I’ll embrace and belly laugh with forever friends.  These are the kind of friends where you pick up right where you left off.  The kind of friends that have carried the torch for me for years when I could not.  Friends that cast their own pain to the side for me.  Friends that got me back on your rivers, back on your trails, friends that helped me see through the darkness that clouded you for years.  Strong, badass women that I am so grateful to know.  

Life continues to move forward, and I keep changing as the years go by.   You Oregon sparked that change with the first sight of your beautiful mountains.  I’ll continue to come back and spend time with you into old age, spend time with the memory of him, belly laugh with some of the best women I know, I’ll remember why we came here.  So hats off to you Oregon, through the scars, you are still so incredibly beautiful everywhere I look.  That is all.