the fighter

Mom called to let me know that you were going into hospice. 

I’m sitting on a plane in Minneapolis, waiting to take off for Kalispell...surrounded by all of these people, but have never felt so alone. And I feel so guilty that I am headed to my “happy place” while you are in so much pain.

Every one of those 134 miles I hiked were for you. Every flower, every waterfall, every mountain pass, every sunrise and every sunset came with thoughts of you.

I was extremely nervous about what might happen to you while I was in the park and unable to communicate with Mom...but you held on...and I wanted to thank you for that...because I needed to be there...to see that Glacier again and to share it with you.

Mom said that your heart rate is starting to elevate, that you don’t have much time left and that if I want to see you that I should get on a flight immediately. So that’s what I did...even though I swore up and down that I did not want my last memory of you to be in a hospital bed. Somehow, I think you knew that...and I think that all you wanted was to know that I was coming to be there with Mom and Dad.

That afternoon, Mom told you that I was on my way. You opened your eyes and looked at her. She knew what it meant.