Minutes ago I finished the most powerful story I’ve read in a long time; Natalie’s story of her father. Though unbelievably sad, and unexpected, it’s an amazing story of love, friendship, nature, climbing and life and death. It was so moving I had to write about it myself, in order to be able to focus on my other homework. I haven’t read all of Natalie’s blogs yet, but I intend to. As soon as I finished her most recent entry, I went to the next, and then I went to her first blog to put the border together, the story of Natalie’s final hike with her father.
I don’t really know what all to say. Natalie, you are an amazingly strong woman, stronger than most, if not all men, physically climbing mountains and mentally experiencing the most tragic event possible, the untimely death of a loved one in the most intimate way possible. My heart, prayers and best wishes go out to you, your family, friends and anyone who knew your dad. It’s clear he was an incredibly beautiful man.
As a son who’s close to his father and spends plenty of time in the mountains with him, it sounds surreal to even imagine such a tragic, intimate experience. Though through literature, language and words I’ve been able to vicariously experience a tiny, tiny sense of what that would be like, from your story. Keep writing Natalie, and hiking, because I’m sure your dad would agree, you’re incredibly talented at both.
As I was about to post this entry, I noticed the title I wrote had a relatively strong iambic rhythm, which inspired - as of course did Natalie's story - some poetry:
Moved to words, and nearly tears,
By those of Natalie,
She brought to mind those deep, dark fears
We’re all afraid to see,
But it’s her story, and long lived years
That are what set us free.
So breathe her words, these mirrors,
An image for you and me.
