Swimming at Altitude
trying to celebrate life with a shattered heart
The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you. TH WHITE
Two days after we celebrated Bailey's short, spirited life, we honored the day that kickstarted our journey to parenthood. Parenthood grants joy, transcendence, and humility. But there’s the risk of tragedy and heartbreak. It’s odd to hold those realities side by side.
Every anniversary we head into the hills. We were married twenty-three years ago in my mother’s celebrated garden as the skies cleared after an intense monsoon. Bailey liked prime numbers because they were indivisible and interesting — numerical mavericks. We were once a small, close family of four; now we are three. Another prime number.
We go to the same spot every year, a lake suspended amidst the granite, scree, and snow at 12,500 feet. This year, the climb was a challenge. Cancer drugs have taken their toll—stripping muscle, making me slow. I’ve grown weaker and thinner. Then came weeks of inertia from this singular depression. I didn’t leave our small farm and just moved around my gardens. Our daughter and her friend skipped up the hills, while I felt every step. But it was so worth it.
There is a lot of weary language around grief and mourning, not to mention endless platitudes. But one friend’s simple advice clicked: “Remember to keep seeking beauty.” Chasing beauty doesn’t blot out pain or eliminate depression but it can temporarily lift the dark spell cast over our lives. At least until the 3 am wake-up call of what-ifs, tears, and the steady montage of memories. Walking in the mountains is a reprieve.
When we arrived at the summit, I felt timid about plunging into an alpine lake. This was a first. I didn’t feel buoyant and feared the weight of my heart would pull me slowly down into the deep spruce green below the surface. Fi and Parrish didn’t hesitate and went right in. And kept us laughing.
Here’s how to swim at altitude:
find deep water with no hidden ledges to break your dive, or your neck
strip to your skivvies or nothing at all
jump in
feel your heart flip and every cell do the jitterbug
yell and yell again
scramble back to shore
float down back to the trailhead
I know I am a long way from serenity. I know that there is no recovery, no tidy timeline, no healing when you lose a child. But there’s beauty and there's wonder. As Mary Oliver put it: “The world offers itself to your imagination.” That’s the way forward.
The sharp edge of beauty can, I think, eventually - over many years - trim the ragged borders of our grief. The grief will never disappear, of course; we wouldn’t want it to. But miraculously it can shrink to a size that sometimes almost feels manageable. Love to you all.
yes: Remember to keep seeking beauty