Reflection

It was cold and damp as we hiked through a rocky pass. I stepped, and a layer of hardened snow crunched and released under my weight. I could hear the huffing and puffing of my son John’s breathing as the air grew thinner the higher we went.

My breath came out like smoke in front of me. We continued on the trail, almost socked in by mist as the clouds were within reach. I followed John, the more experienced hiker until I saw his gloved hand come out, signaling me to stop. There was a noise, although it was faint.

We paused, both holding our breath and both afraid of showing too much in unfamiliar terrain. Essentially, we were in someone’s home like a thief, moving slowly but with intensity. I carefully examined each step, so we didn’t collide and fall into the frozen stream of broken rocks across the trail.

As we stood waiting out the mysterious sound, we heard movement about 100 feet away. It happened quickly. One moment we were hiking the mountain going uphill, the next we were staring at a moose. It was bigger than a horse. The longer we stayed still, the more we observed the moose in its natural habitat.

I itched to grab my camera and capture the moment, but the quick turn of the moose’s head toward us canceled that thought. Survival instincts were kicking in now instead. Adrenaline slowly coursed through my veins, igniting my fight-or-flight instincts.

Just as I was about to whisper to John, the moose calmly walked away. It felt like forever, but it was less than two minutes.

Happy that we avoided near death, we both had a new zeal for life and were determined to make it to the designated spot. My nose and ears were red.

I had to remind myself why I let John talk me into this again. John mentioned this was one of his dad's favorite spots to hike and be with nature. I wasn’t an avid hiker like my late husband Brett and our son John, but I did enjoy it.

As we continued to hike the trail, almost to the lookout point, I began to think about Brett. Our marriage changed me. Our interactions flowed so naturally and I had never experienced that with anyone. I always felt misunderstood, but somehow Brett understood me. Being in his presence was my happy place. Being wrapped in his arms felt like the safest place on earth.

I loved the sparkle in his eyes when he truly enjoyed something. It lit up the entire area. He was that kind of man. His presence was magnetic, drawing people to him and drawing me in at all times. With him, it felt like the wind was behind us and we were smooth sailing. I learned so much humility, forgiveness, and acceptance of myself through our faith and through loving him. He truly made me a better human.

As we rounded our last curve, I looked to the heavens and saw the most beautiful view capturing it in my mind. We arrived at a flat space not far from the summit of the mountain. The landscape was better than any oil painting by the world’s finest painter. I stood at the top, taking it in for the first time. Wow! It truly was a sight to see. I can understand why my husband loved it.

Geology was Brett's passion. He lived a life dedicated to his faith, his family, and science. Loving my husband Brett had come easy. He was a kind man. He didn’t anger easily or get provoked. Even during my most unlovable times, he accepted me regardless of myself. He let go of my wrongs and taught me how to let worries go too and not let any negative feelings fester.

Letting him go, letting even an ounce of his ashes go, felt like an insurmountable task. I reminded myself that he would want this. Only in his mid-forties, he was too young. It was too soon. I don’t want to let him go, but I’m grateful that I had him as long as I did. I wrestled internally as I forced heavy snow-laden boots to move forward. The movement had become redundant, and I was on autopilot.

I couldn’t do it. Maybe tomorrow, I said, but my son John shook his head, and looking into his eyes reminded me so much of his father. My heart started to break all over again.

I knew he was right. If I didn’t muster the courage now, tomorrow might never come. I removed my backpack and searched for the can containing Brett’s ashes. I held it in my hand while zipping my bag close with the other hand. John and I would release the ashes together. After all, that’s what we came here to do.

As the ashes floated through the air, dispersing until we could no longer see them, warm salty tears trailed down my face. John wrapped one arm around me. He had unshed tears in his eyes. I wrapped an arm around John’s waist, hugging him tightly, knowing that he must miss his father a great deal. The emotions flood me and I release a dam of water from my soul. His ashes swirl in front of us and over the mountain. The wind carries him further away. I miss him terribly.

We knew Brett was there with us at the moment and we stood there for a while longer contemplating our present, and hoping for a future filled with love. We are both full of the love Brett gave so freely and want to sustain that fullness for a lifetime.

The next Spring, John and I return to the mountain but he lets me go ahead of him, allowing me time with my thoughts and giving him time to compose his feelings too. I hike up the hill to the clearing, same as before, and stand there alone for a few minutes. It feels like I’m spending a few minutes alone with Brett.

The minutes linger and I’m in college again, sitting under the oak tree reading a book, when a boy walks over to me. He asks what I’m reading. I tell him. He smiles, and his blue eyes sparkle like sapphires. He runs his fingers through his dark hair and hands me a single gigantic, blush peony that I hadn’t recognized he held behind his back.

I stare for a few seconds, stunned that he knew my favorite flower.

“How did you—” I stop, still trying to process it and unable to finish my sentence.

“We have biology together. Professor Russell’s class.” He says, hoping I can trust him. “I overheard you telling your friends that peonies are your favorite.”

I feel sheepish. I don’t remember seeing him, maybe casually in passing. But now I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time.

“Well, I can’t receive a flower from someone if I don’t even know their name,” I play coy with him.

“Brett--my name is Brett,” he stutters out.

I reach out to receive the flower, admiring its beauty. I smell its gentle fragrance, and unknowingly a smile appears on my face, showing my dimples.

He tightly grips the straps of his navy backpack and begins fiddling with the straps. A gentle breeze passes us, bowing the grass, and I tuck a curly black strand of hair behind my ear.

“Thank you,” I say a bit awkwardly. It’s the first time I’ve ever received a flower from a man that’s not my father. It brings me joy and piques my interest.

“Would you like to get lunch? I know a nice cafe not far from campus. We could walk there. My treat.” He says it all at once like if he doesn’t, he won’t have the courage.

“I have a class in a couple of hours, but yes, that would be nice. I’m actually a little hungry.” I look down at the grass, hoping that he won’t change his mind once he learns how much I enjoy food.

When I look up and his hand is extended in my direction, waiting for me to take it. I take it. I use the hand not holding the flower to brush off strands of glass stuck to my bottom. Quickly putting my book into my backpack, we walk together to the cafe.

I smile as I remember that boy and that girl. A lone tear escapes my eye and makes its way to my chin, where it lingers. I don’t realize John has made it up to the top, and he rests his head on my shoulder just like he used to do when he was younger. It warms my heart. It makes me feel needed again.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” I smile and wipe away more stray tears that have fallen on my cheeks. “I miss your father, but when I look at you, I see some of him.”

“He’s with us. He’s in our hearts.”

I stand thinking about his statement and wonder when he became so wise. John is in his second year of college now. He’s the same age Brett was when he asked me to lunch under that oak tree.

“Yes, he is.”

We stand there, looking ahead, my left arm wrapped around John’s waist and his right arm wrapped around mine.

The sky is beautiful, and I decide to enjoy this moment. I feel the earth alive, moving slightly. I think of everything the earth has seen, and I smile at my offbeat thoughts. Brett would laugh when I share my quirky thoughts. I am choosing to live, not merely exist. One day at a time.

The morning light bleeds into the sky. As we stand firmly planted on the ground, John tilts his head towards the sun, absorbing its warmth. I look around and there’s lush vegetation on the ground reminding me that everything has its cycle of life. Today is going to be a good day.