Be safe...

A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from Melanie—short and sweet-- as is the custom when she is at a base camp for Outward Bound. “ Mom, can you call me back on this land line?” (Why is it that OB bases are never in a place that has cell service? Dumb question, I know; that’s the point. Wilderness.)  Calling her back, she told me she was leaving the next day and would be back in five or six days.  As part of being Course Director for two groups already in the field, she needed to meet up with them: hike in, find each group, check in with staff, then reverse that trip. She would be leaving at noon the following day, hike until dark, sleep out under the stars, then hike for another eight hours before meeting up with the group. Innocently asking who would be her hiking partner, she stated that it would be a solo trip.

Okay, I have to tell you that for me, that is just a scary scenario. Hiking alone, in the dark, carrying sixty pounds, trudging for miles with a map and compass. Like I said, “scary” is the nicest words I could use to describe such a venture. When asked if she was worried about this solo part of her job, Melanie said, “Mom, I’ll have a sat. phone.” “Well”, I thought to myself, “ I am sure the bears will be completely aware of that.” For a person who finds the wilderness daunting and yes, a bit terrifying, her joy in this activity is a mystery. Just walking my dogs through our local trails at the nature preserve, I have the urge to bring breadcrumbs (or my trusty daughter) to lead me back to my car. Every fork resembles the one that I thought I remembered from my last hike, but I’m just not sure. But that is my “stuff” so I mumble a simple “Be safe”-- words I have learned to use to “let” her go. (As if I had any choice.)

All this got me thinking about how on earth she got this brave (reckless) and smart (totally stupid), to attempt such an endeavor. In fact, how did either of my children get to the point that they are doing such incredibly difficult and taxing things with their lives?

(Justin’s childhood passion for epic stories, over the years developed into a career in the video game industry. (Thank you George Lucas!) Now as Game Director in the last throes of a two-year production cycle, he works sixteen-hour days, seven days a week while being husband and dad to two rambunctious boys. His story is it’s own and one that deserves another blog entirely but being Always a Mom, he is never forgotten. )

With Melanie, the desire to be on the go started early-- the younger sister keeping up with everyone, especially her big brother.  Appearing fearless from an early age despite more than her share of childhood illnesses, jumping, climbing (as a two year old, dancing on the kitchen table when my back was turned), and skiing morphed into tumbling, and hurling her body with abandon when she discovered gymnastics at age four. Tenacious, she was daring and bold, determined to be her own person.

But it was at age fourteen when invited on a wilderness-backpacking trip that she discovered a world that sustains her even today. After climbing mountains in the Cascades, the returning to her suburban existence paled to the mystery she discovered in the mountains. Struggling up rugged mountain passes life was vibrant.  From the peaks-- miraculous. Except for 2004 when cancer treatment was in its’ earliest and most virulent form, each summer since she has spent significant time hiking, rock climbing, kayaking, trekking up and down hillsides breathing passion and expectancy into her in the same way that stories energize and give Justin life.

Eventually there was work leading trips, but it is an industry that is seasonal, challenging, exhausting and largely without benefits. Why does she do it? While she is the best person to answer that (Mels want to give it a shot?); it is hard for me to comprehend that drive to take on a life filled with risks and hardship.  

Then I remember the sound of her voice when she emerges from the woods and, I “get it”.  Maybe the first time that happened was in the summer of 2005, a year after her cancer diagnosis and surgery.  Melanie was scheduled to co-lead a fourteen-day trip in the Pacific Northwest. Having watched her struggle for a year with her energy, I was not at all sure she was up to the physical demands and I was worried. After flying west, she took up residence in my thoughts as we vacationed on our boat. One muggy Saturday after she had been gone a week, Chris and I sprawled on a lawn listening to music in at the Newport Jazz Festival, when my cell phone rang. It was number that had far too many digits and I almost ignored it, but picking it up, I heard Melanie’s voice clear and strong, “Hi Mama!!” Knowing my concern, her wise co-leader, our friend Bill Harper, had let Melanie sneak off with the satellite phone to call and say all was well. But she did not have to tell me that; I could hear it in the strength and tenor of her voice. There was a revived of hope and joy I had not heard for months. (A week later calling the Harper’s home I was told she had been sleeping for eighteen hours.)

Even having sapped all her energy, that trip healed far more than it drained her.

Perhaps for the first time I began to comprehend how much working in the wilderness can be life giving. Living in, and being a student of, the wild, builds courage and wisdom; doing it with others teaches cooperation and mutual interdependence—something it seems our world could use a bit of right now. Interacting with at risk youth, Melanie has also seen how the experience impacts young hearts, minds, and actions as students come to find an inner resolve they might never have suspected was in them. Standing with youth as they find direction, hope, and perhaps even a new place in the world seems to be worth the exhaustion and lack of steady income.

I was not surprised when several years ago she announced an epiphany that had come to her. She wanted to take other young adults cancer survivors into the wilderness, and she set out to find a place to do that. An Internet search confirmed her suspicion that few such opportunities exist. But then she found a newly forming nonprofit called True North Treks. If you haven’t done so before, please look at their website (www.truenorthtreks.org) and some of the amazing folks who are part of this organization. In a few weeks along with several colleagues, Melanie will be leading the second True North Treks trip, this time on the Olympic Peninsula.

Now I hear Melanie tell me of some adventure and as scary as that might be to me, I have come to deeply appreciate that this is part of who she is and a gift she gives others. So while I may wonder where she got it, I am glad for her and for the world that she did.

P.S. And today I say my “Be safe” prayers for all who are “out” right now (including my son-in-law, Ben).  

A time to rejoice...

This month, Melanie is marrying my favorite future son-in-law, Ben; I could not be happier. Starting this blog, I committed myself to writing at least once a week, but it has not always been easy. Right now, life is so full. We just returned from a long weekend in Seattle that included visiting with grandchildren and Farracy, a tulip festival, and a fabulous party for the happy couple.  Chris and I had the chance to meet their west coast friends and re-connect with the Harper family as well as all those Bainbridge Island women who have loved, supported and mothered Melanie for the last six years. (Shout-out to Carolyn, Kathy, Sara, and Annie!)

Coming home filled with such happiness and gratitude, it was impossible to even think about going back to recounting the bleak early cancer days. Yes, there is still cancer in Melanie’s life, but this month we are rejoicing—plain and simple.  And this might be the perfect opportunity to remember and celebrate just a few of the many folks who have walked with our family these last seven.

In the early days of her cancer diagnosis, communicating by e-mail was pretty much all we could manage. What a relief, and joy, and surprise it was to find hugs from cyberspace every day when the computer came on. Melanie was showered with love in the form of calls, cards and packages, pajamas, and sweets, a box of flower cookies from high school friends, parcels with carefully selected DVD’s and crossword puzzle books, flowers delivered and a never-ending stream of cards. Every one lifted my heart a bit, too. Week after week, something arrived on the doorstep every day. (After about 2 months and the day finally came when the mail brought nothing Melanie said, “Guess no on loves me any more.”)

On May 28^th, Melanie and Ben will be surrounded by so many folks who love them both, but today I acknowledge by name just a very few who were with her B.C., stuck with her over the years, and will be at her side as she starts this new chapter of her life together with Ben.

Standing up front will be brother, Justin (Groomsman) and his wife, Farracy  (Grand Poobah, Lady of Honor) Living far away in California in 2004 and unable to come home, they sent flowers, bad poetry, stuffed animals, and checked in daily. Newly married, they even offered to have her live in the spare bedroom in their home (aka the Mel Hole) as she tried to re-orient her life after treatment.

Then there is Melanie’s childhood friend, Joanna. In 2004, a med student --now a pediatric neurologist and Bridesmaid--  Jo answered every phone call, shared her apartment in NY when Melanie had Sloan Kettering appointments, researched medical information, and just plain kept in touch when it that was not easy to do.

College friend Sus (Bridesmaid) (you have already heard of her mom, Sydney, the “drink a glass of water and take a walk” lady) lived in Cambridge, MA with her fiancé, Doug, when Melanie was first diagnosed. During those early weeks and months, they acted as lifelines to a world outside of cancer for Melanie. Understanding food restrictions, they somehow managed to show up with tasty treats at just the right moment. After a serious complication from her second surgery, when Melanie was in pain, and we were all discouraged and frightened, they came; literally crawling in our bed where Melanie was resting, they stayed on a Saturday evening just watching movies as Chris and I collapsed in the living room. For a few moments with her friends standing watch, we could let down our guard and take a deep breath.  And when she began to heal, they were the ones who coaxed her out for an early evening of fun, took her camping, made her feel normal.

Officiating at the wedding will be Bill Harper, Episcopal priest, long time friend of the entire family, and the first person to take Melanie to the mountains as a fifteen year old in Washington State.  After her surgeries, it was Bill who invited her to help lead a twelve-day pilgrimage to the wilderness with teenagers, a trip that came at a time when she needed to feel alive and be reminded of who she is. That trek was perhaps where the seeds of her work for True North Treks were first planted. (Later, Bill also invited Ben to lead portions of his pilgrimages. Who better to officiate at such a celebration?)

So many have showed up for our family over the years; we are grateful beyond measure. And today I salute some who will stand with Melanie on a joyous day in May.  Justin, Farr, Jo, Sus, and Bill, I send a cyber hugs to each one of you.

Part 1 of People who helped get us through and probably never knew it….

Monday’s post got me thinking about one particular person who helped Melanie and me get through some of the hardest times in this life journey with cancer. There were lots of others and I’ve mentioned a few already—like Sus and Doug who not only walked with Melanie through those early days but also stayed supportive these past seven years. I’ve been thinking I’ll just make this an ongoing topic, because so many gave of themselves in some way.  I continue to cherish each one of them.

The person I’ve been thinking of since writing my last entry has helped me as much as she helped Melanie and I am sure she has no clue. During the early stages of Melanie’s diagnosis and for several months after that, I was out of work as a priest. It is the nature of the ministry as an interim priest. In the best scenario, I would work in a church that was in transition while a parish entered into a search process for a new priest. When assigned by the bishop, with the blessing of the parish, I would work for as short as a year and as long as three years and then move on to the next parish. Ideally, there would be a break of a few weeks between churches, but that did not always happen. Sometimes, the bishop would ask me to move to a new parish before the new rector actually started, other times I would leave a parish one Sunday and start a new assignment the following week (definitely NOT recommended) Then there were the times when it would take a while to be asked to go to a new church. I never knew how long I would be out of work or how quickly I would need to be available. Those of us in interim work understood that the diocese had to constantly juggle to cover the needs of all the parishes in the diocese. But it was unpredictable and out of our control—two of my least favorite scenarios.

In 2003, I finished a church in the early fall and assumed I would be working within a month. Having had no Sundays off between the last two churches, I was tired and needed a break, but when the break stretched into months, frustration set in. All I could do was wait. It probably could have been a good spiritual exercise of letting go, but instead, I was just discouraged and feeling ignored.

About the same time, just before Melanie’s diagnosis, she had been sick for weeks on end, barely having the energy to get off the couch. One day when she was feeling down and I was bemoaning my situation to her, she told me that her friend Sus’s mom always told her that when things seemed rotten to drink a glass of water and take a walk. When you came inside things won’t look quite as bad. Hmmmm… sound familiar? Sounds a lot like that Annie Lamott quote from the last post, “Faith also means reaching deep within, for the sense one was born with, the sense for example to take a walk.” That day we drank a glass of water, threw on jackets, leashed up the dogs, and took a walk.

It was something we would do often in the months to come. After each surgery—and there were three in one month-- recovery came slower and slower. But we drank water and we walked. Even if we were barely moving, Melanie delicately shuffling forward, trying to protect her neck muscles from sudden movement, it helped to breathe fresh air. There were delights to be found—breezes off the ocean, a daffodil or crocus bloom, sea gulls laughing at us, a dog romping off leash. Getting outside even for a few moments took us outside ourselves. And yes, eventually Melanie began to heal and I was called to a parish, but in the mean time,  the water and walking took us a long way.

So today, I raise a glass of water to Sidney Kistin—wise woman, wife, mother and grandmother extraordinaire--unsung hero of the Richmond ladies!

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