We trudged a mile back to the vehicles from near the Middle Fork of the Willamette River at Elijah Bristow Park, having logged it out after the ice storm. We went the wrong way into a flooded area but logged that out too, then backtracked to a trail where we were supposed to be.
When I reached the car, I noted an email from someone I know but not one from whom I would expect a message. The contents were strange, in that I was asked to buy something and send it to a friend of the sender, some sort of birthday present, but I wasn’t clear why I would be doing it, except the sender would be out of town. I wrote her (it was a she) back and asked for more information. I never heard back. The whole exchange was strange, and I felt like she needed money for something and I was available. But then why didn’t she respond to my request for more information? I never knew.
Periodically over the last two years, I have occasionally thought of the exchange, never hearing more, and not even having seen the person, which was somewhat unusual, although I didn’t think much of it. I never knew.
On New Years’ Day, I was leading the hike up Spencer Butte for the Club as part of a three pronged hike on the day to have the annual club celebration on top. I noted the woman of the strange email had signed up, and I was maybe intrigued, but I decided I would come across normally, but not ask anything and just lead the hike. She showed up and we exchanged greetings. It was raining, so I let her and some others go early to the top. They at least would be warm until they stopped hiking, and well then, it was my problem as leader to ensure that nobody got hypothermia. I planned to tell them shortly after I arrived that they could descend whenever they wished.
They summited, and I came soon after, soon talking to several who were sitting on the rocks at the north end of the bare spot, just out of the way of people arriving. The woman was seated in front of me, and suddenly interrupted the person on my right who had been talking to me.
“Mike, you met my daughter up here once.” It was like she had to get the words out, and get them out now.
I vaguely remembered that day.
“She had breast cancer.” I wasn’t so sure I remembered, but I think I did. I was staring at a green line of moss on the rock below. This wasn’t going well.
“She died two years ago. She was 52. I miss her so much.”
Happy New Year to a guy who had never known what was going on. Two years ago at Elijah Bristow, the bizarre letter appeared. I wasn’t about to ask about the letter. I wouldn’t ever know about it, but a whole lot of things came into focus, not the least that every bad feeling I had had about her in the past two years was just plain wrong. I can’t label this shameful, because in good faith I did not know. I did not send an email again, but I could have done at least that. I never knew.
She continued, “I wonder if the chemo she didn’t take was the reason she died.” I couldn’t answer that for sure, so I didn’t. It was a pill and someone else said that it likely made no difference in the outcome. I was still staring at the green line of moss below me on the rock.
“She had cancer involving the covering of the abdomen, which was odd,” was the next thing she said. That I could answer and told her it was generalized carcinomatosis, and this sadly occurred all too frequently in the peritoneum, along with the meninges and any organ coverings.
I said I was so sorry she was suffering so badly this wet, cold day on top of the Butte. She wanted to tell me, and she did. I wished I could have replied better, and I didn’t. I never knew.
She departed down soon after to get warm. When I got home, the first thing I did was to email her and to again express my sympathy and then to apologize for my behavior.
“Mike, there is no correct time or way to communicate this. Thank you so much for your kind thoughts. All the best to you and Jan, and Happy New Year!”
I never knew.
Boreal B[l]og 