I apologize for that title but I didn't know what else to call this blog post. I've mentioned before that between September 2010 and February 2011 three of my mentors died doing what they love. Some people may find comfort in that. I don't and consequently am having a little trouble with closure, mostly because I'm pretty sure that my mentors didn't really want to die the way they did.
We can't all can't go peacefully in our sleep. So do we live out our days until we can longer walk without assistance? Need reminders to eat meals? Have to wear leak protection? Neither is ideal but I guess I'd rather be darn good and ready than to have a rock break loose while I was clinging to it, an avalanche sweep me down a gully, a cornice collapse beneath my while I was taking in the view. That's it; I'd rather be darn good and ready. Tired of changing my pants, tired of having to take my walker or cane, tired of wondering whether I am supposed to go to dinner or breakfast, tired of wondering what is next.
Mark Jenkins, climber and author writes, "…just to be clear, there's precious little consolation in the notion that someone died doing what he loved. When friends are dead, they're not here. For themselves, for their families, for thier buddies. Forever." Amen, Mark, amen.
Having friends/mentors die doing what they love, changes people, at least some people. As it should. I know I'm taking fewer risks, second-guessing myself when I'm uncomfortable. This is healthy and safe. I'm willing to take my time to get where I need to go, keep learning the skills and relearning them. I don't want anyone I care about to have precious little consolation. I'd rather squeeze every rich drop out of this life and have everyone, including myself, be ready for the next step. Whatever that is.
I couldn’t agree more!
Very powerful post, Corinna. I’ve certainly said that trite statement myself when someone dies young doing the risky sport they love because I don’t know how else to make sense of it. I agree with you, however. I’ll take my chances with old age. I’m glad your mentors continue to teach you, even though gone from sight. As outdoors people, however, I certainly believe they are out there with you when you do your own outdoor stuff you love. I’ve worried a lot about my own eldest son, the mountain and ice climber, the heli-skier, who now rides his bike back and forth to work in Pt. Angeles from right outside the Hurricane Ridge Gate. I have noted, however, that now that he has kids, he doesn’t seem to be taking the chances he used to.