MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK, WA:
Today marks a poignant milestone, a year since our beloved Kelly took her last breath. It’s a heart-rending moment, a delicate balance of sorrow and renewal, a reflection of the 7.3 million breaths I’ve taken since, without her. Each breath feels heavy yet transformative, a reminder of the love we shared and the journey I continue to navigate with family and friends. In the past year, our family has traversed uncharted trails, confronting challenges that have tested our strength, bringing us closer together. Hiking has become my refuge and my guide, a way to connect with nature and find solace in the whispers of the trees and the soothing flow of mountain streams. Just like the winding paths I hike, my journey through grief has been filled with unexpected twists and turns, weaving together moments of beauty and struggle.
As I ventured onto the beautiful skyline loop trail at Paradise in the Mt. Rainier National Park, the rugged terrain reflected my own journey through loss and grief. It was a day filled with reflection and gratitude, serving as a reminder that even in the depths of heartbreak, beauty can still be discovered. While I may wear a brave face and stay busy with life’s demands, the truth is that my heart continues to ache. Each hike offers a lesson in resilience, allowing me to deepen my understanding of grief and nurture a light that still flickers within. So, I hike, not just for the breathtaking views, but for the healing that comes with each step.
The Journey…
At daybreak, I found myself on the Skyline Loop trailhead, nestled at a refreshing 5,400 ft elevation. The air was brisk and invigorating, a perfect companion to the soft hues painting the landscape as the sun began its gentle ascent behind our majestic Pacific Northwest mountain. I laced up my boots and set off at sunrise, filled with anticipation for the journey ahead. The initial trail welcomed me with its paved, inviting surface and a quick ascent, resembling a warm-up lap before the real adventure unfolded. Continuing, the path gracefully transitioned into a well-groomed trail, guiding me higher with each step, closer to the 7,000 ft elevation. Along the way, I met Alex and Ariel, two fellow hikers who mirrored my appreciation for the tranquility of these early hours. In that fleeting moment, we shared a connection, an unspoken understanding that sometimes, the people we encounter along the path carry just as much significance as the journey itself.
With each switchback, Mt. Rainier revealed another breathtaking view, each angle bathed in its own unique lighting—a masterpiece that never ceased to amaze. I found myself pausing often, capturing the mountain’s grandeur on camera, when a fellow hiker remarked, “Never gets old, does it?” How true that was—it’s like taking pictures of ocean waves on the beach. Each glance, each snapshot felt like a new discovery, a fresh perspective on this majestic giant. Upon reaching the summit of the Skyline Loop, I took a moment to pause, removing my pack to savor a snack while soaking in the view of the Cascade Mountains and foothills. The beauty was overwhelming, like nature’s own reminder of the vastness of life and the adventures yet to be explored.
The return journey on the other side of the loop was a completely different experience, a revelation of sorts. The trail morphed into packed snow that masked the trail, tricky rocks, and vibrant meadows. I navigated water crossings that led to beautiful falls, where my trekking poles became my trusted allies, preventing any unwanted slips. The streams presented their own charm, some crossed by simple bridges, and others requiring a playful game of frogger hopping from rock-to-rock. It was exhilarating, like life itself, filled with unexpected twists, turns…and hops. As I traversed the high meadows, I was greeted by new friends—playful chipmunks and a particularly friendly marmot. Their carefree spirit reminded me to embrace the joy in simple moments.
My final descent was a delightful mix of encounters, passing fellow hikers on their way up, each sharing a smile and a nod. Shortly before reaching the end of today’s hike, I was treated to the sight of Myrtle Falls, adorned with a lovely bridge and a stunning backdrop of Mt. Rainier, a picturesque finale. After five hours of meandering, I returned to the trailhead, weary yet fulfilled. Unlike other trails, this one offered a perfect spot to refuel at the visitor center. I settled at a picnic table, taking in the beautiful view while enjoying my “walking taco salad” and Kelly’s favorite Izzy drink—her endearing term for it was a “zippy,” a great memory of her charming personality. Today was more than just a hike; it was a reminder of the beauty around me and the connections I get to forge along the way. Just like the path I traveled, life is filled with unexpected turns, breathtaking views, and delightful encounters.
Gratitude…
Before today’s hike, my day started with gratitude. Driving through the quiet pre-dawn roads, the world was still wrapped in darkness, and the only company I had was the soft hum of my car and the occasional wildlife that scurried off the road on my approach. It’s during these serene moments, when the roads are mine alone, that I find the space to reflect on the little things that fill my heart with gratitude. Today, my thoughts drifted to the magic of music and movies. It’s fascinating how these art forms can serve as a gentle escape, a trailhead to another world where I can momentarily leave behind the weight of everyday life. Just like hiking through the lush meadows, where each step takes me deeper into nature’s embrace, losing myself in a song or a movie allows me to wander through the landscapes of imagination and emotion. I thought about how a song can transport me far from my worries, or make an emotional connection, if only for a few minutes.
It’s incredible how a melody can evoke memories, spark joy, or even bring solace during tough times. Similarly, movies can create a portal to alternative stories, offering a brief escape from my daily narrative. It allows me to suspend reality and immerse myself in the drama, humor, or heartbreak unfolding on the screen. As I approached today’s trailhead, I felt a renewed sense of appreciation for these moments of escape. Just as each hike unveils new paths and views, music and movies offer alternative experiences, reminding me that there’s always beauty to be found, even when life feels heavy. As I laced up my hiking boots and stepped onto the trail toward the mountain, I carried this gratitude with me, ready to embrace whatever the day may bring.
Reflections…
Today, my “trail of thought” was a reflection on the landscape of my life over the past year—an emotional journey that has transformed significantly, simultaneously feeling both swift and slow. Loss and grief have become a familiar companion on this journey, each intertwined like the roots of trees along the trail. Loss feels like a sudden rockslide, reshaping the path I once knew, while grief is my way of navigating this altered landscape. I took some time to reflect on what grief means to me, recognizing it not just as a reaction to loss but as a continual recalibration of my inner compass. Along the way, I’ve faced emotional milestones that weren’t all neatly marked on a calendar, or in a photo collection. While I was prepared for the “firsts” and “lasts”—birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays—the unexpected moments have been the most profound. A song on the radio bringing a flood of memories, or a familiar road evoking an important discussion.
These uncharted moments have taught me that grief doesn’t follow a strict timeline; instead, it often surprises me, appearing when I least expect it. With curiosity, I’ve explored various psychological concepts, hoping they would illuminate my path with understanding. Yet, I’ve come to realize that living a fulfilling life isn’t about finding definitive answers but rather embracing the journey itself. As I hiked today, I thought about how my support system is ever shifting, and while I still wrestle with how to express my feelings, I understand that it’s okay to simply say, “I’m good.” Ultimately, this year has taught me that the journey is where I find purpose and joy. It’s about learning to appreciate the messy beauty of life, and trusting that each step I take is part of a larger, meaningful adventure. So, these concepts I unpacked…
I’ve spent a good deal of time wandering through my thoughts about loss and grief, two companions that often seem inseparable. To me, loss is like a sudden change in the landscape—a rockslide that alters the trail I’ve known. Grief, on the other hand, is how I navigate that new terrain. It took me a while to really grasp what grief meant for me. If it’s my response to loss, then it feels simply like a point in time, marked by “this is what happened” and “here’s how I responded.” Sure, I’ve responded. We held a celebration of life for Kelly, forged meaningful connections with others, and made a conscious effort to find moments of joy while celebrating her legacy. Yet, when I dig deeper into my “emotional response,” that’s where the path gets rocky. I don’t view grief as a mere reaction; rather, it feels like a continual recalibration of my inner compass, one that doesn’t seem to have a final destination. And it might be better that way.
Sometimes, my emotional responses could show up as a tear swelling in my eye, or a fleeting thought that interrupts my day—nothing that fits neatly into a box labeled “grief.” In this light, I find myself questioning the very concept of grief. If it’s defined by feelings of sadness, pain, anger, and confusion, then I might as well “throw in the towel,” because those feelings don’t seem to fade away. It’s a bit like asking when hiking begins and ends—there’s no clear start or finish, just a path with occasional waypoints. What I’m realizing is that grief is just a word, one I used to fear like a door I didn’t want to open. Instead of saying I’m learning to live with grief, maybe it’s more accurate to simply say I’m living. Yeah, that feels right.
People often warned me to brace myself for a year filled with “firsts” and “lasts” after Kelly’s passing, each one a marker along the trail of grief, a reminder of loss. It makes sense; these emotional milestones are logical points of impact that we can cling to. I found myself wondering if Christmas would ever feel as magical without her. Those firsts and lasts—holidays, birthdays, anniversaries—are all neatly marked on the calendar, captured in photos, and woven into stories we’ve shared. These artifacts serve as tools, not to fix the void left by her absence, but to help us navigate the terrain, balancing new traditions while honoring the legacy of the ones we cherished together. But here’s the twist: it’s not the obvious milestones that shake my resolve. It’s the unexpected ones, the moments that don’t make it onto any calendar or into any photograph.
They come out of nowhere, like a sudden shift in the landscape. It could be a song that plays on the radio, reminding me of a ordinary moment we shared, or a familiar road that suddenly feels heavy with memories. There are conversations we had that echo in my mind, or even the laughter that filled the room, instantly recalled by finding an artifact that may have rolled under the couch. And then there are those poignant “what if” moments—like hearing the first song she would have added to her playlist. These emotional milestones don’t follow a timeline; they have no clear beginning or end. What I’m learning is that I can’t prepare or schedule these moments. Instead, it’s essential I recognize them for what they are: opportunities for connection. Embracing these unplanned moments, rather than fearing them as emotional landmines, allows me to feel closer to her, keeping her spirit alive as I navigate this winding trail.
Over the past year, I’ve found myself exploring various psychological concepts and theories, hoping they might serve as pathways to understanding my grief and help me navigate toward “the other side,” which, doesn’t exist. It seems logical to think about moving from pain to a state of relief. The Stages of Grief proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, for instance, suggest that we can expect to traverse a range of emotions over time. Or, the Dual Process Model of Grief by Margaret Stroebe and Henk Schut, which highlights the balance between focusing on loss and finding ways to restore our lives. And finally, Narrative Therapy, developed by Michael White and David Epston, which emphasizes how our personal stories shape our perceptions and relationships. While these theories provide a conceptual framework, I’ve come to realize they often fall short as practical tools for solving grief.
So, I’ve decided to tuck these ideas away for academic exploration and focus on packing my emotional toolkit. Some of the equipment I’ve gathered support these theories, while others are more like trusty tools that helps me manage the unexpected bumps along the trail—think of them as tools similar to those needed to stop a leak or fix a flat tire—practical, simple, effective. What I’ve learned on this journey is that living a fulfilling life isn’t a linear process. It’s more like a winding path with twists and turns, where every experience—good, bad, or indifferent—plays a crucial role in the my unique journey. There’s no finish line to reach; instead, it’s about seeking enlightenment and joy along the path, learning to appreciate the scenery, and embracing the lessons that come with each step. This view helps me navigate any terrain with a newfound sense of purpose and resilience.
It’s only natural for support systems to fade over time. I’m not convinced that reaching the one-year mark is some magic timestamp that dictates when support should dwindle, but reflecting on this past year, it’s clear to me that as life moves forward, conversations often become repetitive. People naturally get caught up in their own lives, and while I will be there for them just as they’ve been there for me, it can feel like a balancing act along the trail. Just as it was important for Kelly’s relationships to transcend her illness, I find it equally vital for my relationships to not be solely defined by loss. I don’t want to burden others by sending any type of message that I need to be fixed. I know this dynamic will evolve as I continue to demonstrate evidence of progress.
Yet, I still wrestle with the question, “How are you doing?” It may seem like a simple inquiry, but it carries a weight that requires me to navigate my feelings and assess my status. Depending on the context, I might find myself saying, “I’m fine,” even if I know that’s only part of the truth. I often feel torn between saying “good” and acknowledging the complexities of my emotions. While, in many ways, I am doing well, there are still moments when I’m not. What I’m learning is that it’s perfectly okay to tell people “I’m good” without complicating the answer. That’s often what people want for me, and for the most part, it’s accurate. I’ve also come to trust that deeper conversations will arise when the time is right, allowing me to share more of my journey at my own pace.
I’ve come to understand that my personal growth is shaped by a blend of self-actualization and humility. I’ve learned to accept that I don’t have all the answers, nor do I hold the keys to unlock answers until the time is right. I was fortunate to prepare for loss, and blessed to have Kelly participate in that journey. Yet, even with preparation, we were both stepping into uncharted territory, navigating a landscape we had little experience with. We thought we were prepared for loss and the resulting grief, but looking back, I realize we only scratched the surface. This reflection brings me back to a time 35 years ago when Kelly and I were preparing for our life together. With the confidence of youth, we believed we had most things figured out. Since, we’ve shared many laughs at just how little we really knew about each other, let alone ourselves. Yet, we loved the journey, growing together.
We relied on our values and love to guide us through the important decisions, trusting that it would lead the way. Sometimes, it’s better not to know what lies around the next bend or at the end of the trail. One thing our journey taught me is that a strong set of values can illuminate the path ahead. Of course, we dreamed of growing old together, checking off items on our bucket list and humming along to one of our wedding songs, When I’m Sixty Four. But as we learned, that was not our path. Instead, we were gifted a long, beautiful life, one without a destination. It was the journey itself that made it meaningful, filled with stories of love and connection. My biggest lesson? The journey is what truly brings purpose and joy. It’s never about the destination…“til death do us part;” it’s about embracing the messy beauty of the journey itself. The path continues.
- Skyline Loop, Mt. Rainier National Forest, WA
- 46° 47′ 10.4046″ -121° 44′ 19.70484″
- 6.8 miles | 1,801 elevation gain | ~5 hours
- 58-76 degrees and clear
Musings 