by Trudy Stiles
“Wait. You’ve been carrying him in your backpack this entire time. Like that?” The expression on his face is one of sheer confusion.
“Of course I have. We took this trip for him. I followed his itinerary. He’s been with me this entire time.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I had no idea. I guess I expected that you’d take an urn or something out of your suitcase.” He pauses. “He’s in a baggie?”
I laugh. “I guess when you think about it, it is kind of weird. But I wasn’t going to lug around some decorative ceramic urn every place we went. That would be weird.”
“Do you want me to carry it?” he asks. “I mean carry him?”
“No, I’ve got this. It’s okay.”
He nods his head and adjusts his own backpack on his shoulders. “I guess it’s time to go.”
We walk out of our room and through the lodge. He unfolds the trail map that he had tucked in his pocket. “We have to hike just under two miles to reach Grandeur Point, the place that your father mentions in the journal.”
When we got here last night, the sun was setting over the canyon and it was spectacular. I’ve come to terms with the fact that we’re thousands of feet above the base of the canyon, but I’m still a little jittery. Heath has promised me that we won’t take any trails that I’m not comfortable with. But the point we have to go out on may be a little treacherous, and my nerves are starting to get the better of me. I push my butterflies aside for the moment so we can just get there.
“It’s not as hot as I expected,” I admit.
“My weather app says it’s about eighty-five degrees. A little warm for hiking,” Heath notes, and we start walking on the gravel path away from the lodge. We find the trail and I’m thankful it’s smooth and easy to navigate. I don’t want to have to do any rock climbing or anything that may cause me to dangle or fall to my death into the Grand Canyon.
For the first time all week, I feel the weight of my backpack. I’m cognizant of the precious cargo that I’m transporting to its final resting place, and it suddenly feels like a brick. My father’s ashes are pulling me down, almost willing me not to take another step. Maybe he’s not ready to say goodbye to me either? We’re only about ten minutes into our hike and I already feel like I need to sit down.
“Stop,” I call out, bending over to place my hands on my knees. My lungs start to burn, throat closing. “I can’t breathe,” I gasp, pressure settling in the center of my chest.
Heath rushes to my side, easing me gently onto a large boulder just off the path. He kneels in front of me, holding my head between his hands. I’m looking down at the ground, my feet look blurry.
He rubs the back of my neck, and I suddenly feel cool water drip over my head and neck. “Take a deep breath,” Heath directs, continuing to massage me, trying to calm me down.
“What’s happening?” I ask, scared as to why I’m unable to move, frozen with fear.
“I think you’re having a panic attack,” he states calmly. “Keep breathing. Focus on me.” He lifts my head so our faces are a few inches apart. He begins taking deep breaths that I mimic. “That’s good, keep doing that. You’re going to be okay.”
I’m able to get my breathing under control after a few minutes and I look at him, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why–or how–that happened.”
He kisses me, then pulls away. “It’s okay. I’m actually surprised something like this didn’t happen sooner.”
I shake my head. “Thank God you were here.” If I actually attempted this trek alone, who knows what would have happened if I had this freak-out while I was by myself on this trail.
“Thank God you let me come,” he says. “Can you stand?”
I nod my head, “I think so.”
He pulls me to my feet and I take a few more breaths. I’m not dizzy anymore, and my vision is no longer blurry. “I’m good.”
He takes my hand and we get back on the trail. “Next stop, Grandeur Point,” he states as we forge ahead.
Heath makes a couple of stops to snap some pictures. I’ve been walking, looking straight ahead, trying not to focus on the steep drops just off to our side. He walks out onto a ledge, and I nearly scream.
“Heath! Be careful!”
He turns back and smiles. “Don’t worry.”
When he makes his way back to the trail we’re on, I smack him on his arm.
“Ouch,” he says, playfully rubbing the spot.
“Don’t do that. Do you know how high we are? And, for God’s sake, why the hell aren’t there any guardrails?”
“It’s called nature, Noelle,” he jokes.
We stop one more time before we reach the point so we can drink some water and Heath can snap a few more pictures.
“It’s unbelievable up here,” he muses. “I thought Sandia Peak was something special, but this place, seriously incredible.”
Sandia Peak was pretty cool, despite the fact that I was terrified on the tram ride. But once I did it, adrenaline coursed through my veins. I’m not getting the same feeling up here. We’re on the edge of this incredible landscape, and I’m terrified to inch toward the rim to see what’s out there.
“We’re here,” Heath declares, stopping to take a much narrower trail leading to the point.
I pull my hand from his. “We have to go out there?”
There’s a sand covered path that leads out to a point, with large ‘steps’ down to a flat surface. Nothing on either side of the point but air. It’s like a jetty that juts out into the ocean, except without the water and thousands of feet above the ground.
“See, this is the same exact spot that’s in your father’s picture.” He holds up a photo with the point in the background. A small tree that sits on the ledge is the focal point, but that tree has grown so much larger today.
“No fucking way,” I state, backing away, shaking my head. “I’m not going out there.”
He drops his head, arms at his sides, looking defeated. He mutters to himself and turns back to me.
“Please trust me, Noelle. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.”
I look past him and inch out, little by little.
“We’re not on a balance beam,” he says, sounding annoyed. “This bluff is at least fifteen feet wide.”
I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose, practicing ‘flower–candle’ breathing that my therapist taught me years ago.
Breathe in through your nose–smell the flower.
Breathe out through your mouth–blow out the candle.
“Okay,” I mutter. “I’m coming.”
He reaches his hand back and grasps mine tightly. We walk slowly out toward the peak, and I try not to look too far to my right or my left.
“We need to climb down one level. I’ll go first and you can slide down into my arms.”
“How far down is the drop?” I ask, terrified.
“It’s only a few feet. We have to get out to where the tree is.”
My heart races, and my lip starts to sweat. Everything is sweating.
“Trust me,” he begs, and I let him lead me out toward the ‘step.’
Once we reach it, he jumps down, landing on the flat surface where the tree is. He doesn’t have a care in the world, treating this terrain like an obstacle course instead of a death trap. “Will you be careful?!” I scold him.
“Relax,” he smirks. “Now, walk to the edge and sit down–it’ll be easier for you to slide down into my arms.”
Flower–candle.
Flower-candle.
I sit down, dangling my feet over the edge of the rock and he places his hands onto either side of my legs.
“Slide,” he directs, his grip tight on me. Once his hands reach my waist, he pulls me the rest of the way down, placing my feet firmly on the ground below me.
The ledge is much wider than I expected, but it’s still scary as shit.
“I need water.” I state and grab my water bottle. I take a swig and
wipe my brow.
I sit on a small boulder underneath the tree. “Can I have his journal?” I ask, reaching my hand up toward Heath.
He hands it to me and I flip to the last few pages. Pages I have yet to read.
“Read it out loud,” Heath urges as he sits next to me.
I remove a few pictures that were tucked into a small pocket in the back of the book that I don’t ever remember seeing before. I place them face down on my knee and begin reading the passage.
“December 20:”
I stop reading and flip back a few pages. They’re all from August when my parents were here together.
“Why did you stop?” he asks.
“Because this entry is dated in December, the year I was born. They were here together in August so many years earlier.”
“Keep reading,” Heath urges.
I start over.
“December 20: I can’t believe I had to visit ‘our place’ today without you. The memories came flooding back as soon as I got to the ledge where our tree is still standing. It’s grown quite a bit, probably five feet or more, but our mark is still on the tree. I had to reach up high, but I traced our initials that we carved together.”
“Oh my god,” I cover my mouth. “This is after she died. He came by himself.” She died on December fifth, earlier in the month.
“You said he wanted his remains to join hers. He must have written this journal entry at that time,” Heath suggests, and I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.
This is more like a letter to my mother than the journal entries we’ve been reading all along. I look down and find the place where I left off.
“So many memories of our honeymoon trip have stuck with me throughout the years. But when we descended onto the bluff and sat underneath the tree to watch the sun set over the canyon, it was one of the most perfect moments in my life. Followed closely by the birth of Noelle. She didn’t make a fuss when we traveled here together. In fact, I had her harnessed on my back when I shimmied down the rock to get to the tree. But don’t worry, I was careful.”
“What?” I cry. “I was here?”
Heath grabs the photos resting on my knee and flips them over. He turns a picture around so I can see it. It’s me, strapped to my father’s back in some sort of baby–backpack–contraption. I’m asleep, my head resting on his shoulder, my little baby arms outstretched. He’s smiling in the picture, the Grand Canyon is in the landscape behind him. He must have asked someone to take this picture of the two of us because this is way before the time of selfie-sticks.
“Holy shit,” I say, completely surprised. “He brought me here when he laid my mother to rest.”
Giant tears fall down my cheeks, sobs shaking me. Heath slides onto his knees in front of me and pulls me against him, tucking my head into his chest. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Am I sad that I never knew my father and I shared this special moment together? Am I sad that my father had to travel across the country with his infant daughter to say goodbye to the love of his life?
“That’s incredible,” Heath admits. “It’s so cool that you’ve been here before.”
I try to compose myself as Heath rubs my arms. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod my head.
“I can’t read anymore,” I reply, and he takes the journal from my hands. “I’m ready to say goodbye.”
We stand up and I open my backpack, removing the clear plastic bag that contains my father’s ashes.
“How am I going to do this?” I ask Heath. “I didn’t really think through all of the logistics.” I look around to try to find a place where I can release his remains into the air.
“I have an idea,” Heath states.
He lays down on his chest at the foot of the tree and begins to shimmy toward the edge on his stomach.
“What are you doing?” I yell. “Don’t go any farther!”
His arms are hanging over the ledge, thousands of feet of empty space below him.
“Hand me the bag–I mean–your father,” he says awkwardly. I’m cradling the bag in my arms, and I don’t want to let it go.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to release his remains here, over the side of this ledge.”
This is crazy. He’s going to kill himself.
“Are you sure?”
“Noelle, give me the bag, please. I’d prefer not to hang over the ledge like this all day.”
I squeeze the bag one more time and remove the pocketknife from the front pocket of my backpack. After I slice through the top of the bag, I get on my knees and gently place it in Heath’s hands.
He slides out a little further, his arms now completely dangling over the ledge. He looks back at me and asks, “Is there something you want to say before I do this?”
I nod my head. “Goodbye, Daddy. Please say hi to Mom. I love you.”
Heath turns the bag upside down, slowly releasing his ashes into the air. They fall out of the bag without a sound as they descend into the abyss below. I start crying openly, sobbing until I can’t breathe. I’m saying goodbye to a man I haven’t seen for twelve years. A man who sent me away to save my life, to protect me. His ashes are falling through the air, cascading down and out of sight. I can’t bring myself to look over the ledge as I remain planted on the boulder beneath the tree. Their tree.
Once the bag is empty, Heath slides his body fully back onto solid ground. He takes a couple of breaths before he eases himself up, joining me once again under the tree.
We sit in silence. The warm air swirls around us, allowing us to reflect, each lost in our own thoughts.
“I’m so sorry, Noelle. I wish I could give them back to you.”
“You gave all of this to me. I wouldn’t have been able to come out here without you. You helped fulfill his final wishes. Thank you.” I say, kissing him gently on the lips.
He pulls away suddenly. “Can I have that knife?” he asks.
“Why?” I ask, reluctantly handing it to him.
“Stay put,” he demands, and he jumps to his feet.
We’re on a freaking ledge, where could I possibly go?
I turn to see him climbing the tree.
“Heath! What the hell are you doing?”
The pocketknife is between his teeth, his arms and legs wrapped around the tree, as he shimmies up the trunk. He doesn’t look at me as he concentrates on getting as high as he can.
I’m going to puke. I look out over the ledge and realize if he falls, he’s going to drop thousands of feet to his death. “Heath, get down!” I cry. “Please.” But he continues to ignore my pleas.
I crane my neck to see that he’s about ten feet up the trunk of the tree. He braces himself as he frees one hand to remove the knife from his mouth and starts hacking away at the bark.
“What are you doing?” I ask him again. “This is no time to be a daredevil!” I shout.
He hacks away for a few more minutes and then calls out, “Catch this.” He closes the knife and drops it straight down into my hands. I look up and see him with his cell phone out, taking a picture of whatever he just did.
“Okay, enough, Heath. Stop messing around.”
He slides the phone into his pocket and wraps his arm around the tree, working his way back down.
Once his feet are planted firmly on the ground, I punch him in the arm, hard.
“What the hell?” he asks, rubbing it.
“Are you serious? Do you have a death wish?” Angry tears fill my eyes.
He smiles and takes his cell phone from his pocket, swiping the screen so I can see the picture he took. It’s four sets of initials.
TD
MD
ND
HS
“Oh my God,” I gasp, covering my mouth. “Heath?”
“I wanted to make sure our trip was properly documented, so I carved our initials just below where your father carved his and your mother’s.”
“I love you so much,” I cry, throwing my arm
s around his neck. “So much.” I place my lips onto his, kissing him tenderly. I pull away for a second to scold him again, “You could have died.”
His eyes light up. “It would have been worth it.” He leans down and claims my mouth.
We sink back down onto the rock and face out toward the canyon. The sun is close to setting and the sky is transforming into a colorful landscape of orange, red, and purple, similar to the one we saw at Sandia Peak. But yet this one just feels different.
Heath takes some pictures of the beauty that surrounds us, then turns the camera on us. We take a couple of selfies and then he turns my face so he can kiss me. Once he places his lips on mine, he doesn’t move, but puffs out his cheeks, just like our “sticky kiss” from so long ago. I laugh against his mouth but do the same, and I hear the clicking of the phone as he snaps several pictures of us like this. He drops the phone and his lips soften against mine, his hand finding the side of my face, caressing me gently. Our silly kiss turns passionate, our noses brushing against each other. His tongue enters my mouth, probing gently, entwining with mine.
“Wait,” he states, suddenly pulling away from me. “There’s something I found.” He picks up the journal and opens it up. He reaches his finger inside a small pocket that I had no idea was there. When he opens his hand, a ring sits in the center of his palm. It’s clearly a woman’s ring, diamonds interspersed around the band. He holds it up and reads the inscription inside. “MD, Forever Yours, TD.”
“It’s her wedding ring,” I note, wrapping my hand around her diamond that I’ve been wearing around my neck since I was fourteen.
Heath takes my hand, sliding it over my right ring finger. “It’s a perfect fit,” He smiles, kissing my knuckles.
“It’s beautiful,” I state. I can’t form any other words or thoughts. Having my mother’s wedding ring on my finger seems so surreal.
“We should go,” he says reluctantly. “It’s about to get really dark out here, and we need to find our way back.”
As much as I didn’t want to come out onto this ledge, now I don’t want to leave. I feel like this place is my home, my parents’ home. Our home. But I nod and let him pull me to my feet. We walk hand in hand over to the rock that I’m now going to need to climb up. Heath secures his hands on either side of my waist and lifts me up so I’m once again sitting on the ground above.
