When it rains it pours
My father was killed in a climbing accident this past Sunday out at Joshua Tree near Indio California. The details on the accident are sketchy at best with reports being conflicting but according to those who were there, he didn't foul up and it was "one of them climbing things." I haven't wanted to talk about it since then and am currently on the road from Oregon with a very good friend and some family to take care of the estate. I've heard from many friends and relatives and most seem to say the same thing; he died doing what he loved to do.
I've often thought about this statement and when I was a kid I thought that there was no better way to go out of this world than do die in the moment. Since then I've changed my thoughts on it especially after my uncle Webster was killed in an avalanche while hiking in Colorado. According to many who knew him he again died doing what he loved to do. I have a hard time understanding why dying doing something you love to do makes it better as if dying any other way wouldn't be as satisfying. I think about coaching and wonder how I'd feel if suddenly I keeled over in the launch during practice or at the finish line at championships or NCAAs. I don't think dying during either of those events would make things any easier for me because of the things that I didn't get to enjoy, coaching just being one of the many. I remember reading this book a while ago and I cannot recall the title but I think it's "High Fidelity" by Nick Hornby. The main character goes into this rant about dying and uses the example of Mt. Vesuvius and it's victims. He goes on to say talk about how a victim of the incident might have been covered over in ash and frozen in time only to be discovered by scientists playing checkers or cards. His point is that perhaps the victim didn't love checkers and might have only been playing it to keep a friend company and that now and forever he or she will be known or thought of as someone who might have been wasting their time. My dad was a rock climber, a mountaineer and put up many first ascent routes all over the world. But he was also a teacher, a writer, a history and politics buff and loved his family and friends.
I don't know how I'm going to die and I don't know when or where. I hope that during my last moments and when people who know me call to offer sympathy to those who are left that there is more to offer than just "he died doing what he loved."
I've often thought about this statement and when I was a kid I thought that there was no better way to go out of this world than do die in the moment. Since then I've changed my thoughts on it especially after my uncle Webster was killed in an avalanche while hiking in Colorado. According to many who knew him he again died doing what he loved to do. I have a hard time understanding why dying doing something you love to do makes it better as if dying any other way wouldn't be as satisfying. I think about coaching and wonder how I'd feel if suddenly I keeled over in the launch during practice or at the finish line at championships or NCAAs. I don't think dying during either of those events would make things any easier for me because of the things that I didn't get to enjoy, coaching just being one of the many. I remember reading this book a while ago and I cannot recall the title but I think it's "High Fidelity" by Nick Hornby. The main character goes into this rant about dying and uses the example of Mt. Vesuvius and it's victims. He goes on to say talk about how a victim of the incident might have been covered over in ash and frozen in time only to be discovered by scientists playing checkers or cards. His point is that perhaps the victim didn't love checkers and might have only been playing it to keep a friend company and that now and forever he or she will be known or thought of as someone who might have been wasting their time. My dad was a rock climber, a mountaineer and put up many first ascent routes all over the world. But he was also a teacher, a writer, a history and politics buff and loved his family and friends.
I don't know how I'm going to die and I don't know when or where. I hope that during my last moments and when people who know me call to offer sympathy to those who are left that there is more to offer than just "he died doing what he loved."
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