Have I ever told you about how I communicate with my Dad? He passed 19 years ago at age 64; yes, way too young. For many years now, when I look out in the distance at Camels Hump, I communicate with him; sometimes in Waterbury when I'm on my way back from a walk, run, or bike ride. Other times, while driving back from Burlington from the back-side of the mountain.
Why the mountain top? Soon after his death, I'd make myself move my body, in an attempt to overcome raw angst, empty heart, and bitter appetite. One day I stopped on my way home and looked toward the mountain and asked for guidance. That's when it happened: the connection. From then on, the mountain became "our" place; the place I could say to him what I never had the chance to say. The place I'd launch my prayers. The place I leaned hard on. The place that was bigger than all my insurmountable pain.
To this day, 19 years later, Camels Hump rises out of the clouds each day and offers a spot to pitch my humanity-tent. She (I'm certain she's a she, due to her strength), never fails me. She's familiar with my innards. She allows the sun to slide down her back in the evening, and wakes with me in the morning. Some days she catches clouds in her tall branches, but winds comb them away and she's waits for me in her glory.
I hope I never misinterpret her hight, cold-shoulder, and ruggedness for cruelty or abandonment. I hope when my wounds open, I don't hesitate to look up and ask for guidance again, and again, and again.
I'm grateful I found her. Are you grappling with a loss? You can borrow her if you’d like.
Becky Widschwenter- Mindful Movement with Becky