My brothers and their friends are outdoorsmen.
Serious Outdoorsmen.
They're the ones you see clinging to cliffs and tearing down mountains thinking: Man! I could never do that!
They pulse with a kind of energy that I manage to muffle and stuff within me far too often.
I envy their drive- their boldness- the way they inhale life and meld themselves with nature.
I'll admit, my insides tremble and my heart beats faster every time I hear they're off to climb another foreign peak, scale another cliff, conquer another mountain pass... But a larger, louder part of me longs to feel that connected to my body, my body to the earth, the earth to heaven.
I'm learning to trust their abilities and experience. I've heard them temper passion with wisdom and seen them bow to the forces of nature.
Mark with Alecs, Thursday afternoon
Mark could sense the danger last week. Too dry a winter packed a slick base for the recent snowfall.
"Be on your best behavior kids cause this is just the overture!"
Just one of his many posts and cautionary cries only days before-- after watching far too many minor slopes collapse and crumble.
But calculating risk is always sketchy.
Saturday's perfection was palpable and the mountains beckoned bolder souls than he.
I often wonder how much of unexpected death is charted versus chance,... because I'm coming to see that in so many incomprehensibly divine ways, even accidental death ends up triggering life.
I did not know Alecs in life, but through his death, I have been touched by his passion for existence in a way that I hope will change me forever. And, I will be surprised if my brother's voice isn't louder and his heartbeat stronger because of it.
How many other lives will be nudged, shifted, transformed because of the exclamation point Alecs made when he left this world? And who can say what mark he will continue to make from those white powdery slopes in the sky?
Because if he could reach the heavens from the Earth, he can certainly reach the Earth now from the heavens.
For my little brother, Mark-- Thank You for your life, Alecsander Barton.
Your ripple has reached many shores.
I count each day a little life,
With birth and death complete;
I cloister it from care and strife
And keep it sane and sweet.
... With eager eyes I greet the morn,
Exultant as a boy,
Knowing that I am newly born
To wonder and to joy.
And when the sunset splendours wane
And ripe for rest am I,
Knowing that I will live again,
Exultantly I die.
O that all life were but a Day,
Sunny and sweet and sane!
And that at even I might say:
“I sleep to wake again.”
-Robert Service
Photo and poem posted on Facebook by Rick Black with Alecs Barton, Mark Hammond and friends under a starry sky in Moab.
May 18th, 2011
6 comments:
I'm so sorry that your brother lost his good friend. It does seem that there are times when someone's death--even when we didn't know the person--touches us on an unexpectedly deep level. Knowing his love of nature and adventure, he probably passed in a place he would want, but not in the way he would've wanted. And, certainly, too soon. What a sad tragedy.
We are so sad for Mark. You have a beautiful way with words, Tricia!
I agree, Kristie. Thank you both for your comments.
I tend to be overly cautious, thinking way too much about what could go wrong, and thus usually avoiding the kind of exciting experiences your brother and his friend enjoyed. Then came my mom's car accident, and I realized that even an ordinary day filled with ordinary errands can still be risky in its own way. Not to say I've become a grand adventurer since then, but I've come to appreciate that you just don't know (and ultimately can't control) how any given day will turn out. Yes, you can be smart about your decisions, but once you've done that, it's better to let go and enjoy whatever adventures come your way. I agree with Kristie - It's hard to lose someone you love (and even when you don't know him, it can still make your heart ache), but I love that he was out enjoying his life to the fullest.
So true, Karen. I can only imagine the impact of that experience on you and your family. You surely understand what I'm trying to express and so much more.
Tricia -what a beautifully written post. And my heart breaks for your brother and those who loved his friend. I'm so sorry. To risk is to feel alive and I too envy those who are so in tune with their bodies, the earth. I loved the way you spoke about it here. Thank you.
Post a Comment