Tungsten Mine

Aaron paused, breathing heavily as he scratched the itch on his chest. The small red envelope felt unnatural in his breast pocket. He still hadn’t opened it, he wasn’t sure he ever could. He had intentionally left it lying on the nightstand, but his wife had run after him making sure he brought it along. 

Meg had been surprised when he told her about his plans for the 3-day trip alone into the cascade mountains. Hell, he had surprised himself. He wasn’t the fit college athlete he once was. At 45, and some 30 pounds heavier, he resembled a car salesman more than a track star. His thinning gray hair and “dad-bod”, as his kids joked, were signs of both his age and the poor eating habits he had embraced for so many years. 

“I need some time to process everything,” he had told her. 

She had smiled and hugged him, tears flowing down her cheeks. She wanted to comfort him, and he knew she needed to be comforted as well, but he couldn’t handle feeling things, not now. Getting away was the only way he had ever coped with pain, and this was pain on a new level. 

“Damn it, Meg, I’m sorry,” he said out loud, forcing one foot in front of the other as he made his way up the winding switchbacks. He knew her emotions were normal, the way coping is supposed to be done. Loneliness and fear shared between broken souls as they helped each other heal, but this pain felt like a wedge pushing him away.

It had been a month since they laid his dad to rest. Aaron had expected pain, and he had planned to face it like he always did, by pretending everything was fine and letting it slowly disappear into the past. Time had always been the great equalizer, but there was no ignoring this, it had wrecked him, and he hated that. I should be fine, he thought whenever tears came to his eyes, but he wasn’t. 

They had known for months that his dad was losing the battle with leukemia, that he could go at any time. Aaron had visited as often as he could with Meg and the kids. It had become a weekly routine, even something he looked forward to. Hearing his dad’s calming voice, the kids getting to see grandma and grandpa. So when he got the call that Monday, four weeks ago at 9:03 in the morning, it had come as a shock. Death was so cold, so final, a moment that hung in eternity for those it hadn’t yet swallowed. 

He didn’t remember much of the weeks after that. Visits with family, a memorial service, and then a call to his office to take some time off. He wanted desperately to bury himself in work to numb the pain, but he couldn’t handle hearing any more condolences. 

No one could understand, he had told himself as the sickening realization that he would never talk with his dad again made its home, like a lead ball, in his stomach. His dad who had taught him so much about life and love and faith was gone. 

They had visited his mom a week after the memorial service and she had insisted on going through old photo albums together. 

“It will help us process things,” she had said through tears. Aaron knew that Meg had been talking with her and he suspected they had planned the meeting to help him grieve. 

After long hugs, they had sat, surrounded by boxes of photos from the attic. Pictures of friends and colleagues his mom and dad had known for decades flooded Aaron with memories of times before hospitals and wheelchairs. Their time in California, the house his dad had built with Aaron and his brother, family Christmases, and ice skating on their grandparent's frozen lake. Aaron smiled for the first time in weeks. As they were leaving, Aaron's mom handed him a small tin box. 

“These were some of your father's best memories, he would want you to have them,” she said through tears. 

That evening, long after the kids and Meg had fallen asleep, Aaron had sat at the kitchen table, the tin box in front of him. Inside he had found a stack of photos from a hike he, his dad, and his brother had completed when he was barely a teenager. Beautiful meadows, lazy rivers, and crystal clear lakes raced through his mind as he thumbed through the photos. At the bottom of the stack, an old polaroid fell into his lap. He picked it up and examined it. The photo showed the three of them posing next to an old cast iron bathtub on the side of a mountain. His mind conjured up the memory instantly, and something clicked in his head. 

I have to get back there, he thought. There was something about this place, somehow it held the key that could close the circle of pain he was trapped in. 

A week later he was in the car driving. He wasn’t sure what it was about this memory that drew him towards it. His father had taken him on this hike only once when he was young, and yet he felt like he had to go. 

Maybe it’s the distance, he had thought, halfway through the 5 hour's drive to the trailhead. Work, Meg, and the kids seemed to fade away with every mile he put behind him. His mood had changed as well, hopelessness and despair hadn’t disappeared but they had been buffeted by a kind of expectant longing. Soon he was making his way down the long forest road to the trailhead. More memories had flooded his mind, playing back, as if on a fuzzy TV. A truck loaded with backpacks, windows rolled down as music played and two wide-eyed boys took in the forest and streams they drove past. Their dad, smiling from the front seat, pointed out eagles and deer through the dusty windshield.

There were no other vehicles at the trailhead when Aaron had parked. He double-checked his backpack for water and food and locked his car. He had made it only a few steps when he remembered the envelope, still lying on the front seat. He thought about leaving it, but his wife’s voice echoed in his head. 

“I think it’s important that you bring it.”

He had turned back and retrieved it, stuffing it into his breast pocket before locking the car again.  

No part of the trailhead had looked familiar. Only a small arrow labeled “Tungsten Mine” assured him he was in the right spot. 

The trail climbed steeply at first, switching back and forth as it made its way through patches of evergreen trees. Along the way, he heard the sound of water and at one point the dull splashes of a nearby waterfall. After nearly 3 hours of hiking, he came to a large meadow that almost glowed in the light of the setting sun. Passing through the waving grass he crossed a small creek where the trail turned and made its way up the side of a large hill.

A clearing further up revealed two old cabins. Though aged by decades of sun and rain both structures stood resolute, reminders of bygone times. Between the two structures, an old cast iron bathtub sat among the rocks. Aaron stopped, pulled the old photograph out of his pocket, and held it up, comparing the scene from 3 decades earlier to the present. They looked nearly identical, the cabins, the bathtub, and the mountain rising in the background. A tear formed in his eye as he looked at the smiling faces in the old photograph, but he quickly brushed it away

Aaron spent the last hour of daylight exploring the old mine. Remnants of the mining operation littered the hillside. Brick structures and tangles of old rusted machines were all that was left of a once-busy operation. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he felt sure it was close. 

“What am I doing here?” he asked himself, searching his memory for something that could explain why he had been drawn back to this place. Finding nothing he decided getting some rest would help clear his head. 

Angry dark clouds had filled the sky by the time Aaron made it back to the large cabin. With the threat of rain, he decided to sleep inside. A dirt floor and a few empty shelves greeted him as the rain started to fall. He didn’t feel like eating, instead, he got right into his sleeping bag. After such a long day he expected to fall asleep quickly, but sleep eluded him. The rain outside turned into a gale, but he didn’t notice, his mind was still racing, searching for clues that weren’t there. After hours of tossing and turning, he got up. 

I have to do something, he thought. He pulled out his flashlight and tried to read but couldn’t focus. Throwing the book across the dirt floor he dropped his head into his hands in despair. Blinking back tears, his eye caught the edge of something red, the envelope.

The racing in his head stopped for a moment. This was the last thing he had from his dad. They had rushed to the hospital that fateful Monday only to find an empty room. The nurse had found him, and through her tears handed him the envelope.  

Aaron gently pulled it from his pocket and stared. He wanted to open it, but fear held him back. He felt like opening it would sever the last connection he had with his dad. He felt paralyzed, the walls of the cabin closing in on him and his indecision. 

“Not here,” he muttered. The wind was still howling outside, but he had to get out. He pulled his raincoat on, tucked the envelope inside it, and pushed his way into the storm. He wasn’t thinking now, he just had to move. Up the slope he went, slipping and catching himself, and slipping again. The rain was pounding, the wind was howling, but on and on he went. Suddenly the sky in front of him went white as a streak of lightning illuminated the outline of the mountain in front of him. Moments later the deafening roar of thunder shook the ground. Still, Aaron pushed on, he felt like even nature was against him, that if he could push through the wind and rain he would find his answer. Higher and higher he climbed, one foot in front of the other. He was thoroughly soaked now, but he didn’t care. 

“Why did you leave?” he shouted into the storm, barely able to hear himself over the wind. “Answer me,” he shouted again. 

There was no answer, only the disapproving howl of the wind. Still, Aaron pushed on. Fixed on the summit now, another flash of lightning showed the top of the mountain only 100 yards away. The storm seemed to throw everything it had at him as he slipped and crawled his way through the final boulders. Then, as if conceding defeat, the wind died down and Aaron found himself alone on the top. A streak of lightning tore through the sky miles in front of him, and the last of the breeze seemed to chase the clouds as the storm moved north. Aaron sat on a large boulder and looked up. The dark blackness of space stared back, then one by one stars began to appear through the wisps of clouds still following the storm. Soon the whole sky was filled with them. Aaron sat, mesmerized. He couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at the stars. Slowly he pulled the envelope from his pocket, turning it over in his hands several times. Then, suddenly afraid that if he waited any longer it might disappear, he tore it open. Inside he found a single sheet of folded paper. He pulled out his flashlight, and read.

Aaron, I know I never said it enough, but I am proud of you and the man you’ve become. Last night your mother and I were remembering the adventures we had with you and your brother and one of my favorites was taking you both hiking. Getting away from the weight of work and responsibilities helped me see how important you were. We had some of our deepest talks about God and life while we were hiking. I think it was the solitude, getting away from the cares of everyday life, and taking time to spend with each other. I want that for you, freedom. Let Meg see who you really are, she loves you and deserves YOU, and so do your kids. Not just what you can give them, but all of YOU. Do that for your kids, give them more than just leftover time. These last months I have realized how precious time is. It’s the one thing we can’t get back and I am glad I could spend my last days with my family.

I Love You

Dad

Aaron’s shoulders fell as he finished reading. Even in death, his dad's words cut through his carefully constructed defenses. Aaron took a deep breath and began to cry. The crispness of the air, his father's words, the beauty of the stars, and the fact that no one else was within 100 miles gave him the freedom to let go, and he finally did. As he looked up to the stars, tears rolling down his cheeks, the words from a song he had loved as a boy played in his head.

You taught me the courage of stars before you left

How light carries on endlessly, even after death

With shortness of breath

You explained the infinite

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again

I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen

I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time

That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

“Goodbye dad,” he said, holding the letter to his chest 

“I love you”.