Is it just middle age, or are these moments becoming more frequent? You know, those moments when something reaches out from the mundanity of the morning and slaps you with the realization that life is unremittingly cruel, and also that every breath we take is a miracle and a gift.
Thanks to jet lag, I’ve been up well before the crack of dawn every day this week. The disruption of my circadian rhythm has allowed me to embark on chipper sunrise runs at a time when I usually feel like drowning myself in a vat of coffee. It’s also allowed me to catch up on the social media updates I missed in Europe. Wednesday morning brought surprising news from my friends Shanon and Chris in Utah. On June 19, they were hiking with friends in their backyard canyon when Chris had a sudden heart attack. They called local search and rescue and help quickly mobilized, a helicopter was called in, and now Chris is recovering at home. But it was touch and go for a while, Shanon said, and Chris spent three days in the ICU.
“He is a health monster, how did this happen?” Shanon’s nephew demanded. Genetics, stress, who knows? Life rarely plays fair. The news caught in my throat when I thought about how Chris has long reminded me of my father. Chris and Shanon are the parents of a college friend of mine, Anna. When I was in my early 20s, I spent many weekends whitewater rafting or camping in the desert with the Roberts family. They were the ones who introduced me to bikepacking, lending me an old steel Cannondale so I could join a three-day ride along the White Rim. My ex and I would drop in for their Thanksgiving dinners. They took care of my cat for a month while I was moving from Idaho to Alaska. Chris and my father were about the same age, both tall and lanky, quiet and serious but prone to wide smiles and yelps of glee when they were having fun.
It was unsettling to draw the similarities between Chris’s incident and my father’s death: Hiking on a familiar trail, an unexpected strike of fate, a search and rescue mission, a helicopter flight, and it happened on June 19 — just three days after Dad’s “Angel Day,” as my sisters call it. I often wonder if Dad experienced a medical incident that caused him to fall. That’s something I’m never going to know.
“I have to tell you, I was thinking of your sweet dad when this was happening! He was SO much like Chris, and I’m so sorry he didn’t come home from the trail he was on,” Shanon replied when I expressed my relief that Chris was okay. “You just never know! Thank you for the kind words, we would love to have you join us for an adventure! It may be a simpler one at this point!”
Less than an hour later, I headed out for the mundane tasks of the day: Returning to my weight lifting routine at the gym, a physical therapy appointment, an allergy shot, and grocery shopping. Every time I drive to town, I pass the spot where a truck driver hit me with his side-view mirror while I was pedaling home in October 2021. Even though nearly three years have passed, I admit it’s rare that I don’t think about it when I pass the spot: The blinding glare of the sun, the pain and indignation, the shattered glass glittering on the pavement, the blood on the driver’s face and arms as he walked toward me.
Today I was again passing this spot, known to my neighbors as “Doc Bill Hill” and on Strava as the “Wall of Pain,” when I noticed two cyclists signaling to slow down. Around the next corner, a blue SUV straddled the center line, surrounded by about a half dozen other cyclists. As I stopped, I saw the mangled bicycle toppled on the road, and a man lying on his back beside it, not moving. His friends saw me and moved to direct my car around the accident. So I continued driving, knowing that there was little I could do to help and not wanting to be in the way. Several emergency vehicles passed as I continued down the road, which police had blocked off from the bottom.
For the rest of the day, I felt sick to my stomach. A Daily Camera article indicated the cyclist had been taken to a hospital, which meant he was alive. I learned little else about the accident. But the image of the man lying in the road haunted my mundane thoughts, making me angry. Why does every little hike and bike ride have to be so hazardous? Why does life have to be predicated on one near miss after the next? Why can’t drivers on Flagstaff Road just watch where they’re going?”
Since my work day ended, I’ve self-soothed by sorting through photos from my trip to Paris with my mom, sisters, and nieces earlier this month. While doing so, I also came across an image that my mother sent on June 16. At the time, I was sleeping at a refugio high in the Italian Alps. Mom had spent Dad’s “Angel Day” sorting through some of his old papers. She came across a notebook of prompts he answered while they attended a seminar in October 1994, and immediately opened to this page:
It reads, “What would I do in the next month if I had only one month to live? Dear Sheri, I would use the time to talk with those people who mean the most to me and tell them my feelings and wishes for them in their lives. You and the girls are the most important people in my life and I would spend my time with you. I would spend two weeks pouring my heart out, and the last two weeks in frivolity and telling jokes. I don’t have a great fear of death for myself, but I fear leaving people behind I love. But, anyone could go at any time, and I think grief can destroy a person. That’s why it’s important to resolve issues you might have with others before you or they go and then be able to let them go. Love, Jed.”
“The message I received was the second two weeks to live in frivolity and fun,” Mom wrote. “I think it is a good goal for me. Love you all so much.”
We agreed that Dad’s prescient message read as though it had been written with the advice he wanted to share with us in 2024: Grief can destroy a person. Make your peace with what you’ve lost and let them go. Tell jokes, embrace frivolity, have fun. My dad was never what you’d call a frivolous person. But he knew that life can either be joyful or not. The choice is entirely up to us.
For three years, my mom has fought hard to resist being consumed by grief. It’s been a bumpy road, but she took an enormous leap when she planned this trip to Paris. She wanted all her girls to be there: Her three daughters and two granddaughters. She invested the means to make it happen, even as she continues to resist splurging on the tiniest luxuries for herself. (My father was a frugal man, and that sort of existence is all she’s ever known.)
I admired Mom for this leap of faith but worried that it wouldn't go well or prove too taxing for her. But I needn’t have worried. It was a wonderful experience for all of us. Even I had a great time, which … I’ll be honest … I struggle with cities and wasn’t expecting to enjoy Paris as much as I did. Here are a few of my favorite moments:
Sainte-Chapelle, a 14th-century chapel with the most incredible stained-glass windows rising far overhead. It was a mostly overcast day with hints of sunlight, but the briefness of illumination made it all the more spectacular.
The Louvre, home to some of the most canonical works of Western art, including the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, and Winged Victory. This museum was the only place I had on my personal Paris wish list, and I endeavored to spend most of a day in the building, even after the rest of my family grew tired of wandering the enormous collection. I enjoyed the opportunity to view so many incredible paintings, sculptures, and relics, but an entire day of dealing wall-to-wall crowds wore me down to a husk.
The Gardens of Versailles. We spent our first full day in Paris at the Palace of Versailles. Due to jet lag and stress (my bicycle was missing and I was quite stressed about it), I was at the end of my rope and struggled to manage my crowd anxiety. For this reason, I had a tough time with the palace — it was so crowded and funneled the masses through room after room of Dead Rich People’s Stuff. I found myself getting angry about it: Why are we still celebrating these people, “Let them eat cake” while peasants starved? Truly, I just needed a nap and something to quell the anxiety attack. I found that in the gardens, which were peaceful and gorgeous. My nieces had a lot of fun exploring, and then we rowed boats on the Grand Canal.
Yes, we took the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Yes, the excessive crowds and feeling of entrapment were a big struggle for me. It was fun to see my nieces so happy.
The Basilique du Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre: A beautiful church atop the highest hill in Paris, which was a fun climb on stairs, and oh, how I already missed climbing. I love the ambiance inside churches: Everything is so lovely and peaceful, and hundreds of candles signal hundreds of individual prayers, which feels like an abundance of hope.
Angelina: A famous French patisserie. We visited this restaurant upon the insistence of my aunt, who paid for each of us to have a hot chocolate (here, a hot chocolate is a cup of melted chocolate bar, and they give you a lot of it. I had a cappuccino.) I admit I was annoyed about standing in line to eat a pastry. Ultimately, we did not have to stand in line for long, the interior was lovely, and the food was delicious. (Along with the cappuccino I had eggs benedict with smoked salmon, as I was beyond sugared out by mid-week, but I did try my sisters’ pastries.)
Bois de Boulogne: On Wednesday that week, my family visited Disneyland Paris. I could not do that. Just no. So I had the entire day to myself — at least until 4 p.m., which is when my bike was supposed to finally be delivered to the apartment. I chose to spend my day searching for a trail. Every other day that week, I carved out my needed alone time by embarking on jogs from our apartment, or walking back from an activity while my family took the Metro. The runs and walks were all marked by a constant battle for space. In Paris, crowds are everywhere, streaming along the sidewalks and blocking the intersections. After miles of weaving through a relentless human obstacle course, I became so frustrated that I took to the bike lanes or even the high-traffic streets (taxi drivers especially were not forgiving and it’s amazing I wasn’t mowed down.) After five days, I was hungry for a landscape that wasn’t so urban and peopley. So I followed the Seine River west past the museums, past the Eiffel Tower, past the replica Statue of Liberty, outside the city limits and into a beautiful forest with loamy trails. I had to run 18 miles round trip to reach this place, and it was worth it. On the way back I passed the Arc de Triomphe, played crowd roulette on the Champes-Élysées, saw the Élysée Palace and Palais Garnier. And later, my bike did arrive!
Musée d'Orsay: Another solo outing took me to this gorgeous museum housed in a railway station built in 1900. I enjoyed the abundance of impressionist masterpieces. My favorite piece was this 1879 painting by Claude Monet of his wife on her deathbed. It’s so powerful — so much grief, tenderness, and love depicted in the painting. I also loved Van Gogh’s self-portrait that he painted at the end of his first major psychotic episode at the Saint-Rémy asylum in the late summer of 1889. He wrote to his brother, "I hope you will notice that my facial expressions have become much calmer, although my eyes have the same insecure look as before, or so it appears to me.” Yet the lines and colors betray inner turmoil. The anxiety is palpable.
I suppose these pieces are my favorite because they grapple with life’s most intense and fearful emotions. They’ve emerged from the pain and loss to reveal something beautiful.
Yes, Paris is a magical place. I’m grateful I had an opportunity to experience it — and not only experience Paris, but experience it with the people who mean the most to me. Thank you, Mom, for this gift. It’s comforting to revisit these memories when a difficult Wednesday confronts me with the loss and pain that is always lurking. Life is also full of frivolity and fun, and it’s always important to keep looking toward the light.
Beautiful. All of it.
Cities are great! Except for all the pavement and cement. And the traffic and trash. And all the people. But get rid of those things and cities are great!