July 1st 1991
If someone tells you convincingly, their eyes shining with health, that they are not going to die, you believe them. Best ignore the fact that they have a deadly disease, also best ignore the setting from which the speech is being made; a hospital bed.
We believe what we want to believe.
Lupus has two different kinds; the kill you kind and the make you pretty darn miserable kind. Often men get the former, and that’s what he had. But his big smooth forehead (which was pretty wrinkle free for a man of 46); his brilliant white smile despite his life long cigarette habit, along with his clear intention of not dying made me a much calmer, reassured daughter than reasonable in this situation.
Lupus in Latin translates as wolf; named for the mask like face markings that sometimes appear in those suffering from the disease. He’d shrug and ignore any words of despair a doctor might offer. He had a mantra, it was a good one.
“The wolf is not going to get me”.
Cool, I thought, I can go on with my life and trust that his spot on the planet is secure. I could even move across the country by myself in a shiny red car I couldn’t afford. The west offered vastness, potential, it had people who defied gravity by scaling rocks with ropes. I wanted to be with those people.
Two weeks after I drove away from my parents adorably waving from their porch; I found myself 175 feet up wearing a harness and a shit eating grin. Surrounded by handsome climbers I’d met in a bar a few days before; I felt shiny in my manifested desires, cute in my headband, solid in my strong legs ready to ascend again. As I looked up at the next sheer cliff I was meant to climb, I suddenly, inexplicably imagined myself falling to my death.
Slip. Tumble. Silence. The rope reeling unnaturally, a slow motion felt tip pen creating loops and patterns in the air as I fell. Then the terrible thud, my body landing hard on unforgiving ground. Again and again and again the imagery played, my body feeling the imagined shock. I was just about to confess my fears and make a request to abort when a powerhouse of a wind appeared and whipped everyone else’s nerves as well. It was sudden, fierce and a thief, making communication between us impossible. The shouts of’ belay’ and ‘rope!’ And ‘got me?’ were stolen from our lips and ferried high into the haze of the black hills, dropping into the freshwater lake nearby like alphabet soup.
The crew decided to come down from the two pitch climb and chase pizza and beer Instead. Upon returning to my room, I found a note taped to the hollow door.
“Call home, emergency”
Of course I thought of my father, but, I also knew he wasn’t going to be gotten by any bad wolf so as I hurried in the cool mountain air to find a pay phone, instead I worried about my grandmother’s diabetes, my younger brothers recent forays into acid, my mother’s fast driving. Hands shaking, I dropped quarters into a void that found only disconnected lines at my aunt Jane’s house and an endless ring at my parents house.
Finally I got a hold of my grandmother, my fathers mother, and was flooded with pure relief by the sound of her voice. It sounded strong, cheerful almost, so my breath came back. She asked me why I was calling. When I described the note she said, surprised, “Oh, you haven’t heard?” I said ‘No’, Grandma, what’s going on?.
She said, “Oh honey, your father is dead”.
Moments before that, that same mysterious wind brought one of the climbers over to the store where I was standing with a phone in my hand. It was the one I had a crush on. The one who bore a family name, my brothers name, our patriarchs name. Robert. He wasn’t supposed to be there, he later said he just felt like going for a walk. He saw the look on my face and stood quietly by.
As the news crossed the 2500 miles across prairies and cities, across rock formations and swamps, the wire between us went slack, my knees buckling as I finally fell. It was much shorter than I imagined a few hours before, but it was still a long way down. Robert’s strong climber arms caught my crumpled body as well as my endless stream of tears for the next 12 hours. He then lovingly deposited me at the tiny Rapid City airport to fly home to my not-home without my father.
--
We are given information that we may not understand at first. I believe the vacuum created by his death 8 hours before at a hospital in Florida finally reached me on a mountain in South Dakota, sweeping us off of the rock. The angels carried me down the hill to that payphone on steady legs and brought me a Robert with moments to spare when my legs would collapse. Robert and I dated for years after that, our fate forever intertwined by the powerful wind and his kind heart.
My father loved the mountains, he grew up in cities and near beaches, but he loved mountains the most. When I suddenly, inexplicably found myself moving to the island of Kauai on the 30th anniversary of his death, I realized I’d found his perfect place. A beach with gorgeous peaks. The cigarette smell in my new house that I was meant to move into on July 1st was the telltale sign that he was close by, welcoming me home.
