Happy Birthday to my mountain man

Dearest Bill,

This year will mark the tenth year since you left this time and place.  

You are there, wherever there is and I am here, whatever that means. 

 All I know is we are not together. But I am not alone, at least not lonely. 

Does that comfort you? Are you watching from "above" or does all this just vanish when the real life begins? I confess I am curious but not quite ready to be there. It's amazing what some deep soul work and a few grandchildren can do to increase your appreciation of life here in this sphere!

I just wrote a long and somewhat morose letter about the day you died. Because, of course, I mixed up the dates of your birthday and your death.  They've both become Root Beer days. It's wonderful to have something fun that is so completely you, linking your joyful beginning and our sorrowful end.  I have pictures of both- your mother beaming as she holds you, their precious firstborn, and your family gathering together to honor you fifty-three years later.

Now we share pictures of our root beer floats.

I'm grateful for this little ceremony. I'm sorry I didn't realize the value of ritual and family customs before this. I thought I was being flexible and adaptable when I was just too insecure to establish a firm footing. On anything.

But now I'm different—so today, I celebrated us by going for a long hike.

I finally hiked in Sabino Canyon here in Tucson. It's spring here in the desert- and I'm remembering that glorious spring of cherry blossoms scattering beauty as we drove back and forth to doctors.  Your cancer journey began in the spring.

But today, I'm more remembering our hikes- up Mt. Princeton in Colorado, then bringing our children back years later to play in the hot springs at the mountain's base.  I remember Old Rag in Virginia and the lake hike in the Swiss Alps.  The countryside around Naples and picking chestnuts off the ground.  I never climbed Harney Peak with you but I have a picture of you and the big boys at the peak.  This year, I promise, I'll climb that mountain, the closest one to my house!

Our hikes never looked like this but it has its own beauty. 

Some of my favorite memories of Virginia were our family's hikes up White Oak Canyon. I know you liked it best because you loved water, you fish.  We would say you had gills you stayed under so long. 

So today, on your birthday I hiked, 

grateful for the confidence that I can walk this path alone but 

I still missed you. We shared so many trails, rough and smooth. 

So as I wander, I'll remember and one day, see you on the other side; 

look for my hiking boots.