Still, there were hard choices to be made, including the decision to remove sustenance and waiting for my father to pass primarily from a lack of hydration; a very hard thing to watch.  True, the hemorrhagic stroke and unabated internal bleeding would have claimed him eventually, or left him so incapacitated to make consciousness impossible.  Heroic efforts could have been made giving my father’s body a few more months, or perhaps years, until his system, already weakened by Alzheimer’s and amyloid angiopoathy, caused another blood vessel to burst.  However, my family had all made it very clear to one another, that living via extraordinary artificial means is not living, and we knew beyond doubt what our father’s wishes would be.  

 

This past winter holiday, I traveled with my parents to the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  We stayed in one of the “huts” along the Appalachian Trail run by the Appalachian Mountain Club.  These are lodges really, used by people engaging in snow shoeing and winter sports.  Normally an avid hiker, I noticed that my father found it difficult hiking on all but the most level of trails.  Off in the distance lay an enticing mountain top covered in snow and ice, and as us “boys” readied to hike the trail, I could sense my father’s disappointment that he was not going with us on this adventure.    It was a good thing he didn’t, for while the view from the top was splendid, it was indeed a treacherous, icy trail.   All of us fell several times during the trip; slips that could have sent us over the edge.  I remember hiking the previous winter with my father in an icy chasm, and we nearly lost him off a ledge.  Luckily, the rope we used to tie us all together stopped him from what would have been an injurious fall.  This year’s hike was even more challenging, and my tired body was drenched in sweat. 

 

When we returned to the lodge, triumphant at last, we stopped in the main seating area to regale our parents of our journey.  As I said, this was a hiking lodge, and others seated nearby joined in on the “wait, that’s nothing!” story swapping.  From their tales, I knew that this was an amazingly courageous group.   My father, who normally would have tried to “one-up” us all by telling a story from his daring past – usually his Glacier Lake tale, just sat listening, taking it all in.  My father was a BIG story teller, and to be honest, that was one of the few times in my life I had ever seen my father simply listen.   He merely commented on how proud he was that we traveled to the peak and back again safely and with such great stories.  As I said, that is not something my father was accustomed to doing.  Was my father finally accepting his change in limitations, was it the Alzheimer’s that was limiting his recall, or was he truly simply happy to listen?  I don’t know….but, it felt kind of nice simply to share the story without a “wait, that’s nothing” rejoinder.   But, it also felt a little sad.  

 

Before I left the room to change clothes, I told those gathered that our passion for hiking came from our dad who led us on many an amazing trek.  I told the crowd how my father once took us hiking for 49 miles down off the Chisos Mountains of Big Bend National Park into the stark desert to reach the desolate cavalry garrison at La Noria.  I told how we battled heat exhaustion and a flash flood as we walked the dusty trail to the abandoned fort in the blazing Texas sun.  How we had covered our legs in rolled up newspaper to prevent bites from rattlesnakes and collected rainwater from a tarpaulin to replenish our dry canteens.  The small crowd gathered to hear the tale found it remarkable…and I had indeed “one-upped” them, while my father who sat nodding during the tale, provided a few more details as they came to memory.    

 

Frankly as I’ve grown older, I personally don’t feel a need to “one-up” another’s story.  My sense of self is not tied to proving my adventures are better than another’s, and as a good tale is made better by good listening, I leave it at that.  It’s fun simply to watch another share a fun story.  But just this once…in honor of the man who sat next to me, it felt like the right thing to do.  

 

Curt Collier June 5, 2012