Thank you, Colin
Hey li’l man,
I didn’t get a hike in yesterday, so I really wanted to see the sunrise today.
I tried to go to the Huckleberry Trail, because for some reason I thought it would be less crowded than Seneca Rocks, even though it’s a Monday…in February…and all of the trails are covered with snow. I’m not saying it was rational. I even ignored the sign on the road to Spruce Knob that said that that was where the plowing stopped, because it was plowed past that sign.
Yeah, for another mile.
You would’ve just rolled your eyes, laughed, and called me a dumbass.
Thankfully I could turn around and I figured I’d find somewhere else to hike.
I thought I was gonna miss the sunrise, because the glimpses of the pink and purple clouds between the mountain peaks heralding the sunrise were teasing me while I was driving. I finally found the empty parking lot for the Seneca Rocks trail, and was thrilled to find a spot that wasn’t completely iced-over.
I thought I was up for the challenge.
It wasn’t long into the hike when I thought about how much you would’ve been laughing at me, how ill-prepared I was. I probably should’ve had some crampons, hiking poles, waterproof pants…a guide…whatever I should’ve had, I know you would’ve known. And I heard you loud and clear say “dumbass“ while shaking your head, flashing me that trademark smirk.
I took it more as a challenge to keep hiking than a sign that I should turn around. I thought you wanted me to keep going.
Don’t get me wrong, I thought about turning around a bunch of times.
Especially at that one icy ridge where there is a very uncomfortable gap between the hand railings.
Charlie was raring to go, and I know how much you loved Charlie, so I figured he was headed in the right direction. And we climbed.
I read the warning sign. I thought about it. A lot. I took a good, long, mindful pause. After considering the possibilities, I honestly believed it was safe and I believed — for no rational reason whatsoever — that you wanted me to climb just a little bit further.
I can’t explain what happened next. I think you were there, so you’re probably laughing at how I’m going to try to describe it, but I have to try. I captured my thoughts as soon as I could after hiking back down, only editing for clarity. I hope I did it justice…
I need to capture what just happened and I know it’s gonna sound crazy. Charlie and I hiked to the observation platform on the Seneca Rocks trail. Got to the sign warning of imminent death ahead, advising to resist the temptation to go further without the proper gear, but of course I went ahead.
I thought there was something you wanted me to see.
Being very mindful, being very careful, Charlie and I climbed. We couldn’t go all the way to the top, as I explained to Charlie, because that would’ve been dangerously stupid.
But there was this little side trail that led to what appeared to be a relatively safe spot to stand and bask in true awe of the view.
There is a lone, craggy pine tree with one branch sticking out like a purpose-built handle. I held that branch, stood there and took in the view before me. I said aloud that I wished Colin was there and suddenly there was an unusually strong gust of wind, followed by another, and then it settled back down.
I offered my apologies to Colin as the tears began to flow. I shouted out my true, heartfelt apologies. For the things that I didn’t do, couldn’t do, wouldn’t do, and didn’t even know I could have done.
At that moment the wind picked up and instead of just gusting it started steadily blowing. It felt angry, and I was scared.
I held onto that branch as if my life depended on it, because in that moment I recognized that it did. I was in a truly precarious position. If I had fallen, I would’ve been another statistic. I held onto that branch with one hand while clutching Charlie’s leash in the other. The wind increased as my tears streamed down my cheeks. I sobbed uncontrollably, gripping the branch and Charlie’s leash with all my might.
I screamed into the wind how sorry I was and how much I missed him and how I was going to help his parents get through this. And I thanked him for everything he taught me and everything I have yet to learn from him. I thanked for showing me the meaning of honor and courage and coolness. I swore to him that I would help Dave do whatever it takes to uphold his legacy.
I told him I knew he didn’t mean it and I told him I loved him. Over and over again.
And as suddenly as it began, the wind stopped.
Now, I may be an atheist, but I don’t deny what love is. Love entangles us. And that entanglement never dies.
Sure, that might just be a hypothesis, but prove me wrong.
One of the many lessons I need to learn from Colin is to get shit out of my head. If something does happen to me, I don’t want people to be left scrambling, trying to put things together. If I’ve really got important things to say, I need to say them and take action. I need to put them out there. And I need to tell every single person that I love them and I’m grateful to have them in my life.
Because I don’t think I said that enough to Colin.
I captured everything I could to document the experience, li’l man. I don’t totally understand it, and I know I don’t need to, at least not entirely, right now. I know I’ve been priming my brain with all of my mindfulness and positive psychology and cognitive science…doing everything I can to try to process this. I was even listening to Aware by Daniel Siegel while I was on the hike.
But I also know what happened.
That wind was every bit as real as my tears. I can’t explain it, and no matter how much my monkey brain just tries to rationalize it, I know I don’t need to.
When I finally made it back to the car, the sun was shining. Thank you, Colin. I love you and I wish you were here. Maybe I wished hard enough that you actually were.
That was amazing. Thank you. I love you, and I’m so grateful to have you in my life.
Love,
Mr. Scott
