The mantra is everywhere: in tin wheels that you spin by the side of the pathway, carved into rock walls, on flags poised high in the mountains. I would like to know the jewel in the lotus.
We leave Namche and hike steeply to a ridge where a stone chorten sits in the middle of the path, like an adobe oven with a big hat. Tibetan tradition is to pass by these sacred monuments in a clockwise manner, so we pass on the left. We climb until lunch and, heartbreakingly, must lose all of the elevation we have earned to descend the other side to the river of the Gokyo-Ri Valley.
I follow the last client, a grey-haired gentleman in his sixties, to come into our riverside camp at Phortse Tenga. He is well behind the rest of the group, struggling with the altitude.
“You did it.” I hug him.
He slumps onto the first rock and leans his forehead on his hand. His body shakes, and I kneel before him, my hand on his shoulder.
“That’s okay. You did great.” I struggle to keep my voice from cracking. I hate to see him hurting.
He looks up with a tear-stained face, “It’s just that so many people are counting on me to get to the top.” I hold him while he cries.
On day seven of our journey we reach 3500 metres. After morning chai, I sit in the sun watching my breath swirl into the air. The team members move slowly around camp.
Like the yaks, we set off one behind the other up the steep dirt trail that winds out of the valley through rhododendron forests. We pass by rock wall enclosures, kharkas, that look like ancient ruins but serve as summer grazing grounds for Sherpas’ herds of yaks. As we climb, the sweet smell of rhododendron gives way to the nutty smell of juniper trees. Every so often I look over my shoulder at the massive snowy peaks of Khumbila (5761 metres) and Tawache (6540 metres). My mind slows to meet my pace as we traverse a hillside, up the side of the Gokyo-Ri Valley, above the largest glacier in the Himalaya, Ngozumpa, below. I think of the clients. I feel strong, with a purpose. Lead them to the top. Step by step.
As the air gets thinner, so does my armour. The layers peel away and I feel naked. Mountains are great equalizers. I cannot fight Mother Earth any more than I can fight my own heart. My heart pumps out its real purpose. Find Jim. I want my old life back. I want what is familiar. I want my old compass bearing.
The uncertainty of life is unbearable to me. I falter on the steep mountainside above the rumbling glacier and lean more heavily on my hiking poles. Suck breaths through my aching throat. Shit. Don’t fall apart now. I grit my teeth. I head to the top of the pass where the prayer flags snap in the wind. The Nepalese place the flags as high as possible so they float farther on the wind and reach more people.
A flutter catches my gaze and I look up. There, at 4500 metres, an eagle soars in front of me, so close that its individual feathers shimmer in the sun. He stares ahead but keeps me in his peripheral vision. I stop and watch him glide all the way down the valley.
“Namaste,” I whisper, eyes closed, head bowed and hands at my heart. The light inside me sees the light inside you.
The client behind me follows my gaze and rests his hand on my arm.
“That is amazing.”
“Yes.” I gulp and swipe at my tears with the back of my hand. My mouth gapes in an awkward smile that is a cross between laughing and crying. I interpret the eagle’s presence as a sign from Jim, that he is with me in spirit. I pick up the pace.
Three days later, at 5 a.m., we leave the small hamlet of Gokyo – at 4750 metres one of the highest settlements in the world – for the final push to the summit of Gokyo-Ri. For two hours we ascend in clouds and there are no views. Less than 500 metres from the top a Japanese team descends, lamenting that they saw nothing from the summit because the clouds were so thick. Several of my team members look at me. I grab the hiking poles of the most tired person and begin to tow her behind me.
“Let’s go. It’s going to be great. We’re almost there.” I am determined to get to the peak, because he will be there. An hour later, as we crest the final ridge just steps from the summit, the clouds slide down the valley to reveal a wall of towering legendary peaks: Cho Oyu, Gyachung Kang, Lhotse, Makalu, Cholatse, and Mount Everest, the highest of them all.
We made it. People reach for the sky, hug, yahoo, slump to the rocks. While I hug each person, I make a mental note of how coherent they are. We shouldn’t spend too much time at the top. I take a group photo and feel my heart thumping. I walk a few steps away, sit down alone on a small ledge and contemplate the highest mountain in the world. I yank off my glove, caress the cold stone beside me and touch the warm flesh of my face. He’s here. I feel him.
I push myself up and gather everyone for the descent and our return to Canada.
PART 4
RETURN
Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.
—SØREN KIERKEGAARD
THIRTY-SIX
COMMITMENT
In January 2002 my year is up and it is time to return to Trek. I move back into my parents’ suite in Vancouver and resume the routine of driving back to Whistler every weekend. When Scott is not guiding or scouting locations for Eco-Challenge, we spend time together. I am excited to see him but feel relieved when I am once again on my own. Before he leaves for a three-week trip to Jordan, we meet for dinner. I chat about school, the kids, Habby. Scott strokes his glass. My words begin to run together.
“Is something wrong?”
Scott takes a gulp of his wine and breathes out, “I don’t want to have a baby.”
I grit my teeth and look past him. No, don’t leave me. I will do anything. Just don’t leave me. The old Sue, the person I know and love, who loved Jim, hangs by a thread. Scott is my hope of resurrecting the past, of reversing Jim’s death, of keeping Sue alive. I bring fear to my relationship with Scott: my fear of accepting Jim’s death and of losing myself. I will believe anything to calm this fear.
While Scott is away in Jordan, we e-mail and talk on the phone. He knows I will not accept a relationship where my partner does not want to have a child.
“We love each other. Love is the most important thing. There must be a way for us to be together.” I encourage Scott to believe, too. He wants to be my knight in shining armour.
Scott and I continue to see each other. That summer, we plan an overnight mountaineering trip to climb the highest peak in the Whistler area, Wedge Mountain. As I sweat under my load and lean into the steep trail, Scott comments, “It’s good to see that my girl can carry a heavy pack and keep a good pace.” I flush with pride. In less than three hours, we cover the 11 kilometres and 1200 metres of elevation gain to reach the opaque turquoise waters of glacier-fed Wedgemount Lake. We set up the tent on a bed of pebbles ground smooth by the glacial ice, and the peak of Wedge towers above us.
The alarm rings at 1:30 a.m. and I feel for my headlamp in the dark. I dress without unzipping my sleeping bag but the cold air sneaks in and my teeth chatter.
Scott cocks his ear. “What’s that?” Boots crunch past on the frozen ground outside of our tent. “I can’t believe they got up this early!” Scott laments, referring to the other climbing party camped farther down the lake. “Let’s go! Hurry.”
“Okay.” I fumble with my gloves and try to keep a straight face. Scott is even more competitive than I am.
I stomp down hard to get the teeth of my crampons to bite the glacier. Crystals shatter under my weight, echoing through the amphitheatre of snow, rock and ice. Crunch, crunch, crunch. The odd clink of metal dangling from my harness bounces into the black. The higher we get, the thicker the darkness feels. It envelops me like cotton wool and I fall into a meditative step.
By the time we step over the chasm where the glacier ice has pulled away from the rock of the mountain, the sun has warmed my fingers and toes. The other climbing party has taken a different route, and we reach the summit ridge well in front of them. “Yahoo!” Scott looks at the figures below us and then at the summit peak.
Scott p
acks down steps in the snow as he makes his way up the sharp ridge. I look down to my left at the steep snow slope and decide to keep my eyes focused straight ahead. I stretch my stride to follow Scott’s long-legged prints until we are on bare rock, 50 metres from the summit. Scott steps aside and motions for me to go ahead. He follows silently and I wonder if he contemplates our route down.
At the cairn marking the top, I turn 360°.
“You can see Mount Baker!”
“Yup,” Scott reclines on the rocks, squinting in the sun.
I kneel down in front of him. “It’s beautiful.”
His eyes well up. “Yes. This is where I was going to ask you to marry me.”
“Wow,” I swallow, take his hand, and then add, “so are you still going to ask me?” Scott laughs and pulls me to him and kisses me.
“Yes,” he says. “Will you marry me, Sue?”
“Yes, I will.”
When I tell my parents they hug me. Glenda cries. People are happy to hear the news. I am getting on with my life. I am better. But none of my friends really know Scott. He’s not around much. Jim’s younger brother Kevin and I climb one of the neighbourhood peaks one day. As we plunge into the deep snow, revelling in the meditative nature of our repetitive task, our senses tingling and alive, Kevin turns to me and says, “I’m happy for you with Scott. He’s a good guy. I support you. But you know, some people are saying you’re dishonouring Jim’s memory by being with another mountain guide.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I feel enough guilt about carrying on without Jim.
I launch into my new fantasy.
Scott will leave for Fiji before I return from my trip to Africa with the Alzheimer Society team, so we will not see each other for three months. Scott suggests I come to Fiji in September. I arrange a 10-day leave from Trek, but my gut feels uneasy because I am committing to Scott. When he picks me up at the airport in Fiji after three months of not seeing each other, I relax into his strong arms and breathe in his familiar smell. We sail, surf, hike and horseback ride in this stunning country. Only one of his colleagues congratulates me on our engagement and his friends seem quiet. Something feels wrong.
THIRTY-SEVEN
LETTING GO AGAIN
I am home in Whistler for the Christmas holidays.
“I should give my tenant notice at the beginning of January if we’re going to start renovating in February.” I rest my chin on Scott’s chest. He shifts under my body, takes a breath and clamps his lips together. I push away from him to bring his face into focus, “What is it?”
He turns away. I swivel my legs off the couch so that I balance on his belly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m struggling.” Scott lets go of his breath.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t picture having a baby.” He scans my face. I slide off his body onto the couch beside him. His brow creases and he lies still as if he hopes not to get a beating.
“I don’t know what to say.” My heart goes into survival mode. Lock the doors. Conserve energy. Keep busy. Brace for pain.
“I need to know that I can go away and work for however long and you’ll stay home and look after the baby.”
“I’ve been clear with you that I have no desire to be a single mom. I want to share parenting with my mate. I don’t understand why you need to go away.”
“Purely selfish reasons.” He pauses and takes a breath. “I thought you’d be mad.”
I look at the floor and fiddle with my fingernails. “I’m sad.” We sit side by side saying nothing. I place my hand on the side of his cheek and look at him. “You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“I want you to be happy.” I move down the couch so we both have room to escape. Tears roll down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Scott places his hand on the couch beside my leg.
I tighten my jaw and my anger builds. “I’ve heard that too many times for it to mean anything. I knew all along you didn’t love me.”
“I’m screaming inside. Maybe there are different levels of love. If I can’t be there for you 100 per cent then I don’t want to be there at all.” He sighs, pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll go.” I rest my chin on my hand and look away. My crying gets louder as his footsteps fade down the stairs.
I hear Scott say, “Oh, Sue,” and he thumps back up to the living room, wraps his arms around my stiff body. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll be okay, you know. I’ll be okay without you. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve survived losing Jim, so I know I’ll survive losing you.” I purse my lips and stare at him, wanting to hurt him back.
He stands up and shrugs. “I guess I’ll get going,” he whispers. With each slow footstep on the stairs, a drum beats louder in my body until I vibrate with rage. Why didn’t I let Scott go when he first said he didn’t want to have kids? I hate him for not being like Jim. I hate him for not knowing what he wants. I hate him for being selfish and hurting me. My eyes burn.
Before Scott has opened the front door to leave, I stand up and shout with clenched fists, “Wait a second. Get back up here.”
He jogs back up the stairs and stands before me, hands buried in his pockets.
“What do you mean you can’t do it? You proposed to me. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work so we can move in together and start a life together and now you bail? How can you do that?” My arms stiffen at the shrill sound of my voice.
He mumbles at his shoes. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Go. Get out.” I wave my hand and turn away from him. The front door opens and closes. A motor putters, whines, revs and fades.
Looking to the ceiling I bawl, “Jim, please come back. I tried so hard to let go and to be with Scott. I took all of the photographs of you down. I didn’t go to your family’s place for Christmas. Please, come back.”
For two hours I sit on the couch, paralyzed. The numbness of grieving Jim returns, and I go to bed with thick, heavy limbs and dream of that night when Kevin and Eric came with the news.
The next day, in Scott’s driveway, I visualize the possible scene. Perhaps Scott will open the door, gather me in his arms and say how sorry he is and that I am the one he loves more than anything. Finally, I knock.
Scott opens the door slowly.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Do you want to come in?”
“Yes.” Scott’s dog licks my hand and wags his tail as I pass by.
I perch at the kitchen table, and Scott slouches on the couch, knees wide apart.
“I don’t know what to say.” I stare at my hands. “I don’t know why we can’t figure this out if we love each other.” I slide my fingers along the wood grain of the IKEA table.
“I don’t know, Sue. Given your special relationship with Jim, I didn’t really feel like you accepted me for who I am.” Scott deflates as these words suck his energy.
With a few steps, I kneel before him, hands on his thighs.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I haven’t done enough to let go of Jim.” A sneering voice inside of me says, Yeah, you know Scott has seen the rest of Jim’s ashes on your bedroom shelf and those clothes you keep in the closet. You even gave him one of Jim’s old jackets to wear once. Shit, that doesn’t seem fair, but I’m doing my best.
I choke out, “But I’ll try harder. Why don’t we just try living together? Forget about getting married and having kids. We’ll just move in together and see how it goes.” I breathe quickly and look at him.
His face does not soften and his mouth barely moves when he says, “I’ll think about it.”
I withdraw my hands to my sides and sit back on my heels. “Okay.” I couldn’t have begged much more than that. Completely exposed, I use the chair to help me up, feel for my keys on the table and let myself out.
Two days later I return to work in Vancouver for the month of January. My leave begins February 1, when Scott and I were suppose
d to move in together. When I arrive at school, I coach myself. Okay, pull yourself together. You survived before, you’ll survive this. Don’t let it affect your job. I open the door to our office and Robyn turns around from writing on the board.
“Hey. How’s it going, Sue?” She smiles.
“Great, Robyn, how was your holiday?” I beeline to my desk and drop my bag.
“What’s wrong?” She moves toward me.
My chin quivers. I stare at my desk.
“What’s wrong?” She puts her hand on my arm.
I look at her concerned face and let go. “Scott bailed.”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes fill with tears and we lean into each other at the same time.
There are outdoor trips to plan, assignments to grade and lessons to teach, but every chance I get I seek refuge at my desk with the latest book I’ve bought, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. I earmark every other page and underline every other word. My insides feel like an old fuzzy television screen. Sometimes I don’t want to swallow, for fear that my saliva will never hit bottom. Scott is important to me, but I’ve been in this prison of hollowness before. Scott goes away to work for three weeks and sends one e-mail in which he reinforces his decision and signs it “Scott.” When I am quite sure that Scott has really bailed, I venture to tell other people. One friend asks me why our relationship didn’t work out. I tell her, “I guess he didn’t love me.” She responds sternly,
“You mean he didn’t love you the way you wanted him to.” I want Scott to love me the way Jim loved me.
Dad and I walk along Jericho Beach and talk.
“I wonder why I chose to be with Scott.” The “it’s my fault” voice chimes in.
“Because you were trying to continue your old life,” Dad says confidently, walking with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes, that’s part of it,” I agree, but the rest of my response percolates in private as we walk along in silence. I try to heal old wounds. Jim’s death has a cascade effect on my past hurts. I had tucked those hurts away but now they surface and demand attention. My confidence is eroded and I question my decision to leave my mother to live with my father when I was 16. I question my decision not to see my mother for eight years. I question my once-a-year relationship with my mother now. Was everything my fault?
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