Thinning air burned the hiker’s lungs. Ache cut through his shoulders, his knees, and his heart like a dull scalpel. The early morning darkness hid the path ahead. Gary Campbell, blinked his eyes, paused and looked at the watch on his wrist. Its illuminated face flashed 6:45 a.m. “Sunrise would be soon,” he thought. He picked up the pace and felt his chest struggling because of the altitude. A sound rustled next to him in the rhododendrons. It could be a deer or a bear. A deer would be a much better choice.
Pain ate at his soul. But he was no stranger to it — he had dealt with it his whole life. It was caused by the trauma of his childhood and then the damage his life’s wake left behind. That pain had caused him to try just about every form of self-medication known to man — and all stopped working somewhere along the way. To quote his son, he was a “F-up.” Those words left a scar that burned whenever he thought of it. The boy loved his mama. Hell, he did, too — even if he wasn’t particularly good at showing it.
The dawn began to win the battle with the darkness. Therapy had taught him that he needed to quit running from his pain. The wounded child in him had to stand firm and face the fear that had crippled him for so long. That’s what this trip was all about. His headlight cut through Alum Cave Trail’s darkness. The wide trail lay before him. The men from the CCC camps during the Great Depression had created a super highway of a trail of was one of his favorites. They didn’t make men like that anymore. At least that’s what his mother told him when he was little. She was pretty good at making him feel worthless.
Hurt people hurt people.
The inky darkness of the night began to give way to the dawn. Light started to reveal the mountains’ faces. Pain burned his legs now; he cherished it. “Bring it on, God. Bring on more pain!” He yelled. God didn’t respond but a small fawn ran next to him, startling him. Gary had talked to God regularly since the virus hit. His world had fallen apart because of that little bastard. First he lost his job — his ego’s balm. Then there was the machines, the sounds, the isolation. The fear. The loss. He looked forward on the trail. Myrtle Point wasn’t too far ahead.
Dead firs stood like sentinels as the sun began to rise. He had met Sally on a hike up Mt. LeConte when they were students at the University of Tennessee. Three years later, they were married in a small church in Louisville, Tennessee. They soon moved to Chicago as he chased his dreams. Little did he know, his real dream was the woman he left alone to raise their son. Building a life on an ego is like building on a sand bar, always shifting, never stable. And the home he built on that sand soon crumbled.
First came the pain. Than the self-medicating. That led to the fights. And then the illness hit out of nowhere.
He couldn’t even be with her as the virus filled her lungs.
She died alone, isolated in the COVID ward of the hospital.
Their son Ryan blamed him — for everything, actually. But he took the death of his mother particularly hard. “You probably are glad to get her out of your hair,” he spat at his father that night in the hospital. Those words hurt deeply. And they were the last ones Ryan had said to him.
Gary wiped his eyes as he took a deep breath. Altitude and a lack of oxygen made him feel weak. Or it was the thought of Sally dying alone in the ICU. Or maybe it was losing his son.
His legs felt weak as he headed toward the cliffs of Myrtle Point.
Giant boulders jutted out of the peak of Mount LeConte. Usually, there was a small crowd waiting for the sunrise. But not this morning. The cold temperatures had kept the faint of heart safely (and warmly) in their beds. Gary saw his breath, put down his pack, and dug around for what he was looking for. First, he found a Clif Bar (the irony) and his water bottle. He took a swig and then dug around for the small container. He laid his hand on it and took another deep breath. A voice started him.
“It’s about time you got here old man.”
Out from the darkness, emerged a tall figure — one that Gary recognized immediately .
It was his son.
“You have Mom?”
“Yes,” Gary said coolly.
“Good. I heard you were coming up here. I knew you were fulfilling her wish.”
Both men stood and stared at each other. The boy stuck out his hand. Gary grabbed it and pulled him in for a hug.
“She would have wanted us to do this together.”
They grabbed the small box and began to spread Sally’s ashes. This was Heaven to her. Her journey was now complete thanks to the two men she loved.
As the sun rose over the mountains, pride faded into the dying night. Orange filled the morning sky as love healed the scars of anger.
Thanks to a miracle on Mount LeConte, Heaven received another angel. And on that cold January morning, two men’s souls were saved.
Fear sat on the old pine bench, looking out at the brown Delta field as he drank his diet soda. Customers buzzed as they discussed the morning’s news and drank their coffee. Old men sat in the corner, discussing the world’s problems and proposing solutions on how to solve them. The sun peeked over the budding trees on the horizon, illuminating the table. Fear doom scrolled Twitter as a smirk crossed his face.
“You wish.” Hope announced his arrival as he pulled out the bench across from Fear.
“Prove me wrong, Hope. You’re losing. I am in control. Look at this if you have any doubts!” Fear held up his phone.
Hope put on his bifocals and grimaced.
Fear continued, “I have the politicians in my pocket. They know my way is the best way to get elected. Scare them and you get this.” Fear waved his hand across the table and gold coins appeared. “All they have to do is divide and scare. The people will scurry to the polls.”
Hope didn’t have much an arguement. “Hope and change” seemed as antiquated as “United we stand.”
“What do you have to say about that?” Fear challenged. “Give me one speck of proof that you’ll prevail and I’ll buy breakfast.”
Hope looked out at the distant field and got an idea. He smiled and said, “Look down at your feet.”
Fear looked down and as Hope waved his finger, the concrete cracked open. Through the crack, a small plant burst through.
It then flowered.
Hope smiled and said, “My friend, as long as there is life, there will be hope. And life will always find a way.”
The server came up to take their order. Hope, looking at the menu, said, “I’ll take two eggs, scrambled, biscuits and extra bacon. He’s paying.”
May is Melanoma Awareness Month. Melanoma, which is the most deadly form of skin cancer, is cancer of the melanocytes (what gives you your pigment) — which most of the time, means a mole. If caught early, it is very curable. So your goal is to catch it early. Think of it this way, melanoma like the crack on your windshield. Catch it early, you keep your windshield. Otherwise the crack spreads and, well, not a happy ending.
Here’s what to look for:
If a mole is itching or bleeding, so get it looked at by a dermatologist. If one isn’t available, go to your doctor. If in doubt, check it out.
Also, remember your ABCDEs.
A is for Asymmetry
One half of the spot is unlike the other half.
B is for Border
The spot has an irregular, scalloped, or poorly defined border.
C is for Color
The spot has varying colors from one area to the next, such as shades of tan, brown or black, or areas of white, red, or blue.
D is for Diameter
While melanomas are usually greater than 6 millimeters, or about the size of a pencil eraser, when diagnosed, they can be smaller.
E is for Evolving
The spot looks different from the rest or is changing in size, shape, or color.
Take advantage of skin screenings. If you have someone who can check you out, let them look you over.
This is a subject that is close to my back.
I am a melanoma survivor. Since 2000, I’ve had over 80 moles removed — I look like I fought pirates and lost. Three of the moles were melanomas and one was malignant melanoma, which means it had started to spread. So now, I have a five-inch scar on my back. Yes, the surgery ended my career as an international back model, but I’m grateful to still be here. So my story isn’t one of great struggle — it is one of early detection.
Thank you Kenny Barazza for literally saving my life.
The good news is that science is doing a great job working on a cure. But until that day, get screened and catch anything early.
So get screened — it can save your skin and your life.
I guess it means different things to different people. But for me, it means I’m at a certain age where I realize if I don’t “do the work,” the remainder of what time I have on this rock won’t be much fun (for me or anyone else.) It’s a time to look at my habits — good and bad — and make positive changes. While I’m still in a very busy part of my life (and career), I am taking a longer view of things.
Doing the work is exhausting. But it is necessary.
Past trauma, and if you are breathing you probably have something you need to deal with, manifests itself in the body. You can spent the rest of your life battling effects of that stored trauma. Or you can figure out ways to deal with it. That’s the part of life where I am.
Self medication is like patching a tire with bubblegum. It’s sweet at first but the blowout at the end can (and most likely will) be catastrophic.
A couple of things while doing the work. Don’t compare your work to anyone else’s work. Figure out what you need to do and then do it. One thing we all should have learned from Facebook is that you can’t compare your life to others’ lives — one because what you see might not be reality. I know, shocking! It’s better to find someone like a therapist or a pastor to help you set up healthy guideposts. And once you do, get busy.
Doing the work, by definition, is work. It’s hard. It’s annoying, painful and exhausting. It is easier to procrastinate, worry, surf social media, drink, shop — chase dopamine from rewards — than it is to knuckle down and face your demons.
Choose the hard path. Tack into the wind. Piss yourself off. And find joy in the process.
The cold darkness fell over the young man as he walked through the woods. The inky blackness of the cold morning smothered him like a wet blanket. Fear and doubt crushed down on his soul as he walked. A lone frog croaked off in the distance — otherwise, the only sound he could hear was the sound of his feet crunching on the gravel road.
“Why, God? Why? Why won’t you heal me?”
The young man started talking aloud, silencing the frog and breaking the morning’s calm. “Why do I hurt? If you were an all-loving God, you’d send me a miracle or at least a sign! Where’s the shooting star? Or even a burning bush! I’d settle for a damn burning bush!”
Hurt, tired and angry, the young man felt gravity pulling him down. Tears started to flow down his cheeks. “Why? Why can’t you give me one miracle.”
Then a slight breeze blew across his face. He stopped and realized he had been given the miracle he so desperately craved.
It was his breath. He took a deep breath. And then another.
Behind him, a meteor burned through the atmosphere. But he missed that. Instead, he just focused on the gift he had been given — the air entering and leaving his lungs.
He was alive. That was enough of a miracle for him.
Back when the I-55 YMCA was more than a source of copper wire for vandals, I’d stop at the front desk to chat with the person there before I’d work out. One day, I noticed a male cardinal beating his head against his reflection in the window. He’d bang his beak against the bird he saw over and over again until he was nearly unconscious. Then, after a brief break, he’d get back up do it all over again. So would his opponent.
Of course, he was fighting his own reflection. But that didn’t stop him. He was fighting a battle to the death against himself.
Sometimes I’ve felt like that. I’d fight something over and over again when maybe “surrender” was the best option. I am stubborn and I don’t believe in quitting. And I tend to use the same tools that I’ve alway use — hard work and determination. But in hindsight, I now know there are times, I should have just let go.
I’m sure the cardinal would agree — it would have saved a lot of headaches.
