Letter: Tears On The Trail – “A Sacred Journey”

I write a lot I know about my wife, not having her hand anymore to hold, not able to share the events of the day, not huddled together as I read to her there toward the end, not contemplating in awestruck silence the beauty before us as we come around a bend in a trail.

And in the process of processing my grief, as this next week I will complete 100 miles in her memory backpacking over the summer on trails throughout the beautiful Pacific Northwest, I have made the acquaintance of many, many fellow hikers around the world on trails of their own grief, or who have vicariously ‘joined’ me on mine, where we are united by tears.

And united in purpose.

To live life. And love more.

Though the forest through which we walk seems to weep in the early morning mist from the fog that settled overnight as we slept, snug in our little tent; though our solo efforts to climb the trail that is often very steep is exhausting, and on that trail we are passed going either direction by hikers in pairs who smile as they continue on, still we too smile.

We smile because we are so delighted to find pairs of delicate alpine meadow flowers, huddled and snug together; a pair of butterflies there in the very middle of our path when never before have we seen but one, but now there are two; a pair of trees so close together their branches appear as if holding hands with the majesty of the mountain hovering over as if somehow bestowing its blessing as we behold such beauty.

We smile because we’ve topped a ridge, and we see with our eyes what our heart very much feels, that beyond the beautiful blue lupin bordering the trail at our feet, our trail leads to a lake shaped like a heart.

It is being in, and writing about, such splendor, that something happens to quiet the heart; hurry and worry are replaced by grandeur and beauty; and friends are found we’d otherwise never have met who are united in this rekindled purpose – to walk each other in loving-kindness home.

For Emily, that means she’ll one day hike to the top of Skellig Michael off the coast of Ireland, something her husband had always wanted to do.

Flor writes that “majestic mountains, and the bluest of seas can also be seen in her part of the world.”

Roger is revisiting places his wife once visited together, the first time he admits with great trepidation, but then he returns again, and again, walking and re-walking the same routes they walked, and some of the paths now that only she took then. And in his journey, he writes he is observing “what is no longer important; what is newly important; and where my life goes from here.

“It is a sacred journey.”

Nancy commented, “I have worked up the nerve to travel the world solo, and have been surprised to learn that the pain and suffering have made me stronger.”

Diane’s husband died suddenly just two days before his gift to the family was to have been opened – to travel together across America the Beautiful and though now grief, the ever unwelcome traveling companion, had come to join them, there came a day when the bittersweet journey was undertaken, “memories and pictures treasured forever.”

Carol lost her son and now she writes, “I walk my grief away.”

And Charlotte, expressing the sentiment many, many like her now feel, having loved much and lost much, as she sometimes dines alone but remembers how her husband of many years would look into her eyes, hold her hand across the table, even lift her hand to his lips, that if there is still a hand to hold, make sure every day they know how precious, adored, cherished and treasured they are.