I don’t typically like to get deeply personal here. I like to share stories with the emotions and revelations that come with the journies I decide to go on. Sometimes, though, you don’t get to decide the journey you go on, it’s decided for you.
I grew up with a dad that I really loved. He taught me how to ride horses, find joy in working hard, and be exceptionally good at whatever I put my mind towards. We were two peas in a pod that shared the biggest joys in life. Unfortunately, as I was entering my teenage years, he turned to alcohol to cure his ailments, like his father before him. He turned into a new person, someone I didn’t know at all, no longer the happy cowboy I knew to love. As his alcoholism got worse, along with his temper, he pushed me to the edge forcing me to exit the relationship for my own wellbeing. This was almost ten years ago.
Those ten years were full of radio silence. I opened a door once for him to reenter my life, but it was never walked through. I grieved for the person I lost, and then I slowly began to heal. I wasn’t alone though, my little sister had to go through all of it as well. We have an incredible relationship now, in part because of the struggle we’ve both had to endure.
While we both felt like we were making headway in coming to terms and peace with this situation we got some news that kicked the chair out from underneath us. Our dad had died. His alcoholism killed him through his liver at the age of 62. What shattered us most was the fact that even on his deathbed he wasn’t able to acknowledge what he had done, or try to make peace with either of us.
So here I am again, grieving. Not so much for a person, but for the hopes that there would be some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of apology, or attempt to fix things. It’s very difficult to know how to feel when you’re not following a “traditional” grieving pattern. How is it you can grieve the death of a person two times in your own lifespan?
So in not knowing what to do or feel, I decided a trip to my spiritual home would be a good place to start. Something about the openness of the desert allows the mind to both be free and wander. While it was absolutely freezing when I went, I was still warmed by the sun on the open sandstone. The juniper still smelled just as sweet.
I recently listened to a podcast about embodiment. In it they talked about how pain and trauma can cause a person to feel detached from themselves. It struck a chord in me because through all of this, I was fully living in my head. Asking questions I would never have answers for, and making my body feel tense and sick. I’ll tell you what though, sleeping in a truck in the desert when it’s below freezing will put you into your body pretty dang quickly. Same for riding a hardtail mountain bike across slickrock while a snow storm looms off in the distance. I went out to Utah to try to figure things out, but what ended up happening was I put myself back in my body and got to feel like a real person again. Turns out I needed that a lot more than trying to think through this mess
My therapist told me that it would be a good idea to create my own sense of closure. A physical thing that signifies the end, since the person I needed closure from is no longer here to dish it out. I guess that’s why I’m sharing all of this here. While I’m not a 100% sure what that’s going to be, I know that it will be something I document, because this is a story I want to look back on to remember how strong I am. And I want this to be a story to inspire others in equally strange situations that they can be strong too. And when I say strong, I don’t mean the grin and bare it kind of strength. I mean the cry it out, process those emotions, and overcome difficult times strength. Because in the end, life is too short to let pain overrule you. You won’t see me on my deathbed with life long grudges and resentment.
While I was driving home from Utah I was thinking about what my closure might be. I have an idea but it’s not set in stone yet. I can tell you that it’s most likely going to involve a bicycle and a good amount of uphill suffering.