She switchbacked up a broad slope that tapered gently to a wide-open plateau. A gust cooled her sweaty brow as she paused to take in the view to the north. Mount Rainer’s glaciers shone in the sunlight, a majestic mound above the green and brown of the foothills below; Glacier Peak, looking almost purple, rose above the haze to the northeast. Mount St. Helens’ crater edge was still several hundred yards away, so she pushed on, her breaths in time with her fatigued legs and shoulders. The view into the crater and valley of devastation to the north opened slowly.
And then she stood on the edge, looking down into the cavern carved out by the 1980 explosion, the east and west ridges of the crater tapering down to the debris field and the deep blue of Spirit Lake.
After removing her skis, she slid her backpack from her shoulders and set it in the sun-softened snow. Using it as a chair, she took a moment to take everything in. Her legs ached and she was thirsty and sweaty. After a while, the chilled breeze had cooled her skin and she dug out her layers from her backpack. The small bag containing Pete’s ashes rolled around in the bottom and she paused before reaching for it. The weight of it had surprised her at first, but holding it now, here, brought on the pull of sadness once again, and she crumpled onto her pack with Pete’s ashes in her lap. How can I do this? How can I let you go?
She knew she should eat something, but her anxious stomach churned at the thought of food. A nervous, cramp-like sensation wiggled like a giant worm inside her as she stood and approached the crater, careful of the invisible cornices. The true summit lay a half mile away along the crater ridge, but she didn’t have the energy to get there. Inside the crater, plumes of steam erupted from the cindery dome like the breath from a sleeping dragon.
A soft breeze whistled past her ears and disappeared beneath the crater rim, carrying the scent of the forest and the melting snow into the valley. You will be free here, she thought, hugging the bag as she broke down. Tears blurred her vision, burning her lids as they escaped.
You will be a part of the mountain and the air and the rivers fed by the snow. And I will come back. I will come back to be with you again, to remember your arms around me and your hand in mine and your smile.
A sob escaped her lips as the pain throbbed in her heart. She closed her eyes as it rattled through her. She felt fragile and weak, breakable. Her arms shook with the effort of holding the bag, and she knew it was time, knew it was time to set him free but she couldn’t, she couldn’t do this thing. She fell to her knees in the soft snow and wept.
There must be some kind of sign, she thought through her pain. Something that tells me how to do this. She craved the sound of Pete’s soothing voice, the flash of his steadying gaze. But she knew that these things would not come, would never come.
Finally, after her tears subsided, she looked at the dark grey bag in her hands. With shaking fingers, she unwrapped the top. She stumbled to her feet and a gust of wind pressed against her body. When she rolled the sides of the bag down, the wind picked up a layer of the ashes and whisked it away, down into the crater. As more tears filled her eyes, she opened the bag further, tilting it into the wind. Another gust whistled past as she watched a grey stream of Pete’s ashes trail off into the sky and over the rim.
When it was over and the bag was empty, she sat and cried for a long time, the wind lifting the tears from her cheeks, and she thought of her tears finding those pieces of Pete drifting through the sky, mixing so that they could be together forever.
With the sun past its peak and the clouds moving in from the sea, Cassidy peeled her climbing skins from her skis and stored them away. She drank some water but still felt empty, her mind echoing with the pain. And then she packed everything up and stepped into her skis, the tight click of her bindings sharp in her ears. After one last glance at the peaks bowing to her from the horizon in all directions, she pointed her tips downhill and let the mountain lead her home.
THE END
Acknowledgments
This book has been an intense journey of the heart, and I would not have been able to travel its many peaks and valleys without the support of my family. I would especially like to thank my husband, Kurt, for his patience, eagerness to listen, and for the love he shows me every day. Thank you also to my children, my most loyal supporters.
Several experts guided me in this project: thank you to Jodie Prescott, BSN, RN, CCRN at Harborview Medical Center for the excellent details regarding traumatic brain injuries; thanks to paramedic Rick Ratcliff for sharing his experience treating acute anxiety; and a big thank you to Craig Isenberg, LMFT, who guided my understanding of human psychology and behavior and who made time to answer every one of my questions. Thanks to Dave Yacubian for helping me navigate San Francisco from afar. Also, thank you
