Loss is hiding in the trees

It was just nearly six years ago that Tim and I hiked in Rocky Mtn National Park. Instead of going to a main entrance, we chose an area that was actually only trail head parking. No gate. No ranger. And in fact, there were only a few other cars parked there. We honestly knew very little about where we were other than it was a place to hike. We thought we’d avoid the crowds found at the main entrance of the park. We simply followed directions based on a black and white map printed from a computer at the VRBO we were living in for six weeks.

When we got out of the car, we were taken off stride by posted signs regarding a missing person. He was last known to be hiking in the area and hadn’t been heard from in 5 days.  Right next to the posted sign was a bear food locker. I can say that both of these things caused us to feel uneasy. We were new to this wilderness. No, not just new. We were completely green. There were no other people in sight. We didn’t know what the norms were. So a bit of fear and unease crept in.

For many reasons, that moment seems so long ago. My life has changed. Firstly, I would never use a printed, black and white map to get to a trailhead.  (thank goodness!) But also, I have addressed new and unexpected fears. I like to think that facing them, consciously, is an opportunity to learn, grow, overcome. It doesn’t mean it it’s easy or natural. It doesn’t mean that the fear disappears. Overcoming fears can take time. Or forever.

And so here I am today, regularly hiking above tree line. Before moving to Colorado, I had never hiked above tree line. I didn’t even know what that meant. Up to that point, I had spent my time hiking in trees. They are beautiful and you know I will hug them all day long. But they can also serve as obstacles. What’s hiding behind those trees? The mountain lion is the one possibility that truly puts me on edge. Bear. Moose. For me in that order. Above 11,500 feet in elevation, trees do not grow. You can see it all.  It’s like you step away from those obstacles and see the big picture. And to me, it feels more comfortable. I have more information.

For a while after Tim’s death, I felt invincible. I thought there was nothing that could hurt me, because I was already dealing with the worst situation I have ever known. Not exactly a rational thought, but it is hard to be rational in the fog of grief.

I still can say that I am not afraid of grief.  Grief has taken me above tree line. It has given me a vantage point where I feel I can see in every direction. Up, around, and down. I am not afraid of grief.  I have seen what it is. I know it comes from love. I have befriended it. I have accepted that it is part of a sacred journey. I have even chosen to educate others about grief; to normalize the conversation around something we will all experience in our lifetime if we are lucky enough to love and live a long life.

But In truth the fear of loss, itself, is so close I could touch it. The loss of someone that I love, suddenly no longer being here with me. Or that some part of my life that I rely on, need, or cherish could be taken away from me. It scares me. There are moments when it comes through my heart and I become aware that it could paralyze me. What if I lose? The thought of it. I hate it. I fight it. I want to run from it. I don’t want to lose someone that I love ever again. But, I have and I will. As long as I am still alive myself.

So I don’t fear grief. I fear loss. To me those are very different things.

Loss is hiding in the trees. I don’t know when or where it will get me. Loss is a shock. It is a staggering stab of pain.

Grief is above the tree line. Wide open. No obstructions. I can see all of it. Though grief is a result of loss, it is also a result of love. It is a dull ache.

All that I know to do with this fear of loss is the cliché, live in the present. Yes, this phrase may be overused and tiring to some, but for me, what a great truth it is. Projection. Worry. What if. That is overwhelming and frightening, and certainly rarely helpful.

So, I practice my yoga. I breathe. I go out among the trees. I step into it. And I get above the trees. I step away from it. I don’t want to live in fear. I want to live in love. Joy. Wonder of all the beauty. So, I will fight you, fear. Wherever you are lurking. And when all else fails, I will speak that very firm reminder, a mantra, if you will, sometimes silently and sometimes it comes to my lips. F**k fear!