Dear Dad,
I remember the stories you told us so many times, about going skiing with your college buddies. You all went to Colorado and stayed together in a ski cabin. You loved to tell us that story. You got so animated, telling us how amazing it was to sit in a hot tub, steam rising in soft curls, into the starry sky as snowflakes drifted down around you. You told us about how you could see your breath it was so cold but being in the water was so warm and relaxing after a day of skiing. I’ve seen the stars here in Colorado now, Dad, and they are just as beautiful as I’d imagined, shining their ancient light through the cold air. You told us this story over and over, each time pausing in thought when got to the part about how beautiful those mountains were.
Being in the state right now feels so right, knowing that seven years ago today you took your last breaths not far from here. You said your last I love you and your last good night right here, under the same stars you loved so many years ago. When you came here the night your died, Dad, you said you couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning and see the mountains. You couldn’t wait to see those beloved mountains from your youth, the ones that held beauty, awe, and a full life ahead of you. Looking back, it’s only right that your soul left from here. Your soul came to the most beautiful place that it remembered, and while you never woke up to see those mountains with your human eyes, I know your soul flew over them, between the stars and the snowy peaks, and you still thought, oh my, how beautiful these mountains are.
I’ve seen those mountains now, too, Dad. They are every bit as majestic as you described them. They took my breath away. I felt humbled and small and in awe looking at the ranges rising in the distance across the horizon. It’s funny that I haven’t made this connection until now, how we both have a fondness for this state. It feelss fitting that coming to Colorado was the final act of your life but coming to Colorado was a lifegiving breath for me. I came back to life here, looking out on those mountains you loved from my hospital room. I’ve fought hard battles here, Dad. Battles in my head and on my plate but I’ve won them. It has been life or death a few times, and each time I’ve gone home a more alive version of myself than I’ve ever been before.
I visited here in September this year and Jordan and I drove into the mountains and we hiked Gray’s Peak. We hiked 14,000 feet, can you believe that, Dad? You would have thought that was pretty cool, I bet. You would have been proud of me. We didn’t realize what we were in for, exactly, and that was probably a good thing. That mountain was steep, icy, and boy was it tall. Every snowy, slippery step I took was a metaphor, each switchback turned was a beautiful illustration of most of the time I’ve spent in Colorado. I knew it, even as I was walking, bent over a trekking pole and willing myself forward. This is the work, I’d tell myself. This is it. You cannot tackle an entire mountain peak at once. I literally climbed that mountain one hard-fought step at a time. And now I find myself here again, trying to heal one day at a time, one thought at a time, one bite at a time. Each step closer to the summit of that peak was a thrilling and loving reminder to me that climbing is hard, my legs were sore, my face sunburned, my head pounding. And yet I climbed. The view from the summit was worth the struggle. It was so beautiful I could not take it in, Dad. I stood there looking out over mountains tops as far as I could see in every direction, in awe of the beauty.
I’m still climbing, Daddy. I hope you are proud of me. I hope now you can see and understand the mountains that I’m climbing and how hard I’m working to hold on. My safety rope had to catch me again, but I’m hanging on. I have found people to catch me. Dad, there are a whole lot of people out there who loved us, who love me, and who believe in me. Do you know what that’s like? To have so many people who believe in you? It makes you brave, Dad. I am brave now.
Daddy, tonight I looked out my hospital room window over the dark mountain ranges and thought of you. I thought of how much you loved me, how hard you struggled in your own life, and how much I wish I could tell you about what I’m learning in my own struggle. My struggle that is becoming my light. I miss you so much, Dad. You just have no idea. I’m a grown woman now, but when I think of you, I am still a little girl who just misses her Daddy.
And just like you, I can’t wait to wake up in the morning and look at the mountains.
I love you, Daddy.
