Life Goes On

Last night I worked on a slideshow for Cindy’s memorial service. Even mentioning that may disturb some people, like the friend who sent me a message asking how I was doing. When I told her, she responded that she did not want Cindy to die and was “bawling her eyes out.”

I used to detect a decline in Cindy monthly; lately, I’ve detected it daily. According to the literature, and personal experience, as the end nears the rate of decline accelerates. Even so, I don’t see my working on a slideshow fatalistic; even if Cindy survives months longer I view what I am doing as simply practical. I want to impact how people remember Cindy, but I doubt I will function well at getting something together once she passes away.

I told my tenderhearted friend that for me life is a matter of “How well?” not “How long?” It’s the qualities of life that matters, not the quantities. I’ve always felt that way, even before living long was not possible for Cindy. Always. People who have followed this blog for awhile may remember my campaign to get people to wish “Happy travels” rather than “Safe travels” in parting.

How well life goes on came very much to mind this past weekend. I attended the after wedding celebration of Colin, a former student of mine when I taught Biology at Housatonic Valley Regional High School. Colin was an impish student, which is to say I saw a lot of who I was as a student in him. Perhaps he sensed that, but the common thread for him and the other former students I saw at his wedding was the Wilderness Adventure Club I started as a teacher.

My objective as I attended the celebration was to catch up with some of these former students. Colin was the first person I spotted at the outdoor gathering. He spotted me as well and said something to the person next to him. That person looked at me and a big smile came over his face, as I’m sure came over mine as well. I gave a hearty handshake and hug to Gray, the only student to complete the Superhike.

Ah, yes, the Superhike. This is what us long distance hikers in the area call hiking in one day the 50+ mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail in Connecticut. This was the most famous event the adventure club held. I believe twelve students attempted the feat; though all accept Gray and myself dropped out, many hung around until the end to give Gray encouragement. They exhibited a supportive social dynamic that made me proud of them.

Effects of a Superhike

Later on I spotted Gray talking to the another former student I had hoped to see, Jeremy. My fondest memory of Jeremy came after high school, when he volunteered to drive support for a few days while I was mapping the AT. That turned out to be a naive, unsuccessful endeavor, but how can one not be touched by a former student wanting to help out with such a project? Apparently, Jeremy must have valued the experience as well. As soon as Gray pointed me out to Jeremy a big smile came over his face as well and he strode over to greet me.

Right after Jeremy I chatted with Nikolle. We also have a connection that transcended our time in high school, albeit tangential. We both have done work for the Housatonic Valley Association, a nonprofit watershed organization. While chatting with Nikolle I started realizing a common thread among my former students in addition to the adventure club. Like Nikolle, most became involved in environmental and/or humanitarian endeavors after high school; most became involved in “quality of life” careers such as carpentry, community supported agriculture or, in Colin’s case, brewing.

Colin and I both tell a story where I am given partial credit for him becoming a brewer, a story told a few times at the celebration. He was up to his impish behavior during Biology class and, to remove the source of irritation, I sent him to sit in the supply closet. Moments later I am presenting something on the blackboard when the realization flooded over me that: “What have I done?! I just left that leprachaun alone in a supply room full of chemicals!” I rushed in to catch him holding two vials of chemicals before he could do anything with them. At least that’s my version, which wins out when Colin and I tell the story together. In his version I suspect he claims a minor explosion is what got my attention.

Ian arrived a little later to the party; I chatted with him just before I left. He filled me in that he attempted another Superhike a year ago, but was unsuccessful. He was going to make yet another attempt in a couple days, with Gray back in town from Montana being able to provide support. Both Ian and Gray now wanted to me to join in the support. Gray was even willing to pick me up and bring me back for the short time I might be available. Alas, I have other duties.

As I left the celebration I called to mind something Gray said early on. When I mentioned how I thought the adventure club was responsible for the connection I had with my former students he disagreed. He claimed that prior to the club students felt connected to me from the way I taught. What a warm feeling that sentiment gave me. After all, leading others in adventure is one thing, being a teacher in life’s lessons is quite another.

That has much to do with why I did not feel overwhelmed with grief as I worked on Cindy’s memorial service, while not far away Ian was nearing the end of another Superhike attempt. Yes, I have some sadness. I often grapple with the thought that someone who can enjoy life as much as Cindy will not be able to do so for much longer. Yet deep down I feel good, knowing I’ve done the best that I could to enable Cindy to enjoy her life during our final journey. I also feel good knowing that life goes on for others, for whom quality matters more than quantity, and I had something to do with that.

Ian, if you’re reading this let me know if you made it, or if you’ll need me for support next year.