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.
