When you last visited this space, my wife was soothing my fears about elevation sickness. I won't turn into a bleeding pumpkin head, she says. She's a registered nurse. Lucky for me.
Then she started giving me one of those listen-up-buddy looks. She spoke quietly and steadily, meeting my eyes intently. I've been married to this woman 29 years, so that was enough to stop me cold.
When she drew a deep breath, I almost didn't want to hear it.
"Do you really think this is a good idea?" she asked. "Taking this backpack? Being gone all that time in August?"
You see, my father is quite ill -- so ill that I'm going to be with him in Maui next week before a perilous surgery. I am going to spend a little more than two weeks with my mother and my father. My wife and teen-ager will join us at the end of July.
I have nothing but good thoughts about my father's ability to recover from cancer, and I am trying not to worry about his surgery. But my wife, who has been a nurse more than 25 years, has worked with many cancer patients. That was her job at one time. She understands the diagnosis and the percentages. I understand far more than I am willing to think about at this point.
My wife, being my most precious friend, also understands how much I'm avoiding, which is basically everything. She knows nothing will ever be quite the same if bad turns to worse for my father -- whether it happens now or 10 years from now. I am not willing to think about that yet.
"I feel like I'm 7 years old again," I told her. "I had no idea I would feel like this."
"What if you need to be here during the time that you're gone?" she asked. "What will you do if something happens?"
"I'll hike out the way we planned," I answered. "And I'll deal with it afterward."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"No."
"Maybe you should think about not doing this," she said.
I kind of zoned out, thinking about my father. He was the guy who led his platoon through hellacious fire fights in Korea more than 50 years ago. He survived some of the toughtest times coming back from that war and getting his life together.
He was always the most loyal, powerful figure I could remember. I saw that man hold on through adversity that would have crushed lesser men. He taught me more about life and living than he will ever realize.
"Maybe I should think about not doing this," I said. "But, believe me, he wouldn't accept that, and I don't think I will either."
