Mom called the other day. This is her first Christmas back home in Wisconsin after four years of living in Ohio. She should be happy. Moving back was her idea. She spent every day here looking over her shoulder seeing the past as she remembered it, instead of the present that I was providing for her. Because of that, she missed each opportunity I gave her to find joy and shared times here with me. Always thinking she'd be happier in Wisconsin, she took all that I gave her for granted. Now she's back "Home" and she's alone. I'm not there to help her or to take her out every week for lunch and groceries. No more special theater treats or sporting events. No curbside transportation to Dr's appointments. She preferred home alone in Wisconsin to trying to make a home here near me.
And now shes lonely and sad, as I knew she would be. I want to scream "I told you so" . I want to feel a sense of satisfaction, even justice, in her suffering because of the way she took me for granted. But I don't. I just feel loss and pity and disgust for the waste of it all. I had hoped that we could redeem the indifference of our mother daughter relationship by spending these final years together. I even dreamed that her coldness and selfishness would melt if I just tried hard enough. But it didn't, and now it never will. Children only ask one thing of their parents and that is to be loved. Being grown up does not lessen that need. Across all these miles mom still has the ability to cause me heartache.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Devils Corkscrew
In 2002 I made a trip out west with a girlfriend. Three years in the planning, it was to be an adventure of a lifetime. Our intention was to hike the South Rim of the Grand Canyon down into the bowels of the gorge via Bright Angel Trail, all the way to Phantom Ranch lodge where we would spend the night in a woman's dorm. We would then hike back out the following day, and celebrate our accomplishment at the beautiful El Tovar Hotel on the rims edge.
One mile into the descent, the thin air and the sheer drop offs began to take their toll on my friend. Louise is a strong woman, my boss, my exercise partner, and a very good friend. I believed that there was nothing she couldn't do once she put her mind to it, but I could see her weakening with every step. We stopped at a tiny rest area where water and bathrooms were available. She took off her backpack, sat down on the ground, put her head in her hands and began to cry. She looked up at me at last and said she didn't think she could go any further. I was stunned. The thought of not completing the hike was as unbearable as the thought of continuing without her. I was torn between my loyalty to her and my loyalty to myself . The sense of beauty, wonder and freedom of this adventure had me in its grasp. There was no turning back for me, but a decision had to be made in fairness to both of us. Ultimately we agreed that she would return to the rim with a small group of hikers while I continued my descent alone.
That is when the real journey began for me. Not the one I had anticipated, of exercise, adventure, and shared experience, but rather a life changing epiphany. I breathed in every sight and sound from within the canyon walls. I watched in awe as the Colorado river changed from a tiny ribbon of blue to a roaring river of strength and beauty. Like the ever changing river, each step brought me more strength rather than fatigue. I had never felt so strong and full of life as I did while dwarfed by the vastness of the Grand Canyon.
The scenery took my breath away, until I entered an area called the Devils Corkscrew. Aptly named, it is a seemingly endless series of switchbacks which appear to lead nowhere. For two full hours, I found myself entirely alone, locked within this baron maze of passages. Surrounded by nothing but steep, colorless canyon walls, the silence was deafening. I stopped for a moment to actually absorb the reality of being totaly alone. I anticipated the possibility of losing myself to the fear of feeling abandoned and lost, but fear never came to me, nor did loneliness, just total peace. In my solitude, I found no stress of being pushed by another to keep a pace beyond my comfort zone. There was no pressure to succeed beyond my own desires, no need to please anyone but myself. And I was pleased and proud of the strength I had found within me. It amazed and saddened me just a bit to realize that the happiest day of my life was one shared with no one. It was the lack of companionship, in fact, that had made the experience so special.
As I left the Devils Corkscrew and entered the final mile of my journey to Phantom Ranch, I puzzled over this revelation. Was there something wrong with me, something broken, that gave me such joy in solitude? I didn't know the answer to the question then, but I have accepted the fact that the right or wrong of it doesn't really matter. The Devils Crokscrew has taught me that being alone is not a burden. It is a gift.
One mile into the descent, the thin air and the sheer drop offs began to take their toll on my friend. Louise is a strong woman, my boss, my exercise partner, and a very good friend. I believed that there was nothing she couldn't do once she put her mind to it, but I could see her weakening with every step. We stopped at a tiny rest area where water and bathrooms were available. She took off her backpack, sat down on the ground, put her head in her hands and began to cry. She looked up at me at last and said she didn't think she could go any further. I was stunned. The thought of not completing the hike was as unbearable as the thought of continuing without her. I was torn between my loyalty to her and my loyalty to myself . The sense of beauty, wonder and freedom of this adventure had me in its grasp. There was no turning back for me, but a decision had to be made in fairness to both of us. Ultimately we agreed that she would return to the rim with a small group of hikers while I continued my descent alone.
That is when the real journey began for me. Not the one I had anticipated, of exercise, adventure, and shared experience, but rather a life changing epiphany. I breathed in every sight and sound from within the canyon walls. I watched in awe as the Colorado river changed from a tiny ribbon of blue to a roaring river of strength and beauty. Like the ever changing river, each step brought me more strength rather than fatigue. I had never felt so strong and full of life as I did while dwarfed by the vastness of the Grand Canyon.
The scenery took my breath away, until I entered an area called the Devils Corkscrew. Aptly named, it is a seemingly endless series of switchbacks which appear to lead nowhere. For two full hours, I found myself entirely alone, locked within this baron maze of passages. Surrounded by nothing but steep, colorless canyon walls, the silence was deafening. I stopped for a moment to actually absorb the reality of being totaly alone. I anticipated the possibility of losing myself to the fear of feeling abandoned and lost, but fear never came to me, nor did loneliness, just total peace. In my solitude, I found no stress of being pushed by another to keep a pace beyond my comfort zone. There was no pressure to succeed beyond my own desires, no need to please anyone but myself. And I was pleased and proud of the strength I had found within me. It amazed and saddened me just a bit to realize that the happiest day of my life was one shared with no one. It was the lack of companionship, in fact, that had made the experience so special.
As I left the Devils Corkscrew and entered the final mile of my journey to Phantom Ranch, I puzzled over this revelation. Was there something wrong with me, something broken, that gave me such joy in solitude? I didn't know the answer to the question then, but I have accepted the fact that the right or wrong of it doesn't really matter. The Devils Crokscrew has taught me that being alone is not a burden. It is a gift.
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