Of Dreams and Dreamy Days

Cindy surprised me by rolling over to place her head on my chest and arm across my torso. She admitted she was lacking in physical affection; she used to joke about it. If an arm was draped around the other it was usually mine. I responded by wrapping my arm around her back, as if preventing her from changing her mind.

This came at the end of a spectacular three day stretch through the Goat Rocks Wilderness. In 1977 the skies were overcast here, crystal blue for the Alpine Lakes Wilderness; my lasting impression was of the superior beauty of the Alpine Lakes. Now that the weather for each was reversed, so was my lasting impression of superior beauty.

This stretch could have been a fiasco. Along with the open alpine beauty of the McCall Basin came the steepest ascent of the entire hike. Soon after that came what is called the knife edge, featuring unstable rocky and washed out footing at seemingly the top off the world, with sheer drop offs. On occasion I grabbed the straps on the back of Cindy’s pack, ready to stop her from sliding off the trail.

Cindy took the trail conditions in stride this time. Standing on the exposed lip of the McCall Basin, in between the two challenging sections, Cindy pointed towards the general direction of the majestic Mt. Rainer and reverently uttered “look at all that.” Having shaken her cold helped with this disposition, as did the sun and pure blue skies.

In the foreground was either a plethora of alpine flowers,where vegetation could grow, or the rocky sculptures formed by imposing cliffs. For a backdrop either Mt. Rainer, Mt. Adams or the more distant Mt. Saint Helens emphatically marked the horizon; at one rest stop we could see all three. We saw mountain goats in the Goat Rocks as well. Some were visible below us from the knife edge, while a large herd of them congregated far above the basin of our second evening’s camp.

Contributing to the experience was the delightful company of Dave (Savitt) and Patsy. Savitt and I relived old times on the PCT, with a particular focus on this section. Savitt kept a journal of the ’77 hike and brought a copy of this section out with him. We were both amazed at how the striking nature of this section escaped both his notes and our memories. Patsy was continually enthralled by the alpine beauty. They were glad to be there; we were ecstatic to have them along. Most important, their infectious good natures kept Cindy smiling and laughing.

At one point Mike took a side trail to meet us, bringing cookies and chocolate with him, along with his welcoming disposition. With the tough trail conditions and pleasing beauty slowing us down we informed Mike that we would need an extra day to reach him at Walupt Lake. Cindy was in full agreement with this, a sure sign that she enjoyed the section, though after Mike left us again she cheerfully voiced “I like Mike.”

Three days south of White Pass we met Mike at a campground. We cooked our respective suppers on the picnic table and for a moment Cindy appeared sullen. Did she feel apart from the activity? Her mood changed as she volunteered to clean the pot. This is not possible in the backcountry when eating inside our tent, or at campgrounds when Charissa joins us, with cooking and cleaning split between the two of us. I could tell that cleaning the pot made Cindy happy. I thanked her for doing a great job, while adding that I would just give it an extra rinse.

I settled Cindy in the tent first as always. As I left to store our food in the car she called out wanting to know if I needed some more help.

These were the events that led up to later that night, the events of a perfect stretch: perfect beauty, perfect weather, perfect company, all ending with Cindy feeling useful. When Cindy surprisingly laid her head on my chest her action was not conscious, she did not respond to my voice. Instead I felt the involuntary twitching of her body that has occurred since the onset of Alzheimer’s. Still, the tightness of her contact suggested at least a subconscious urge.

My mind drifted into a dream state. In that state remained Cindy’s presence, clutched to me. We went on a literal walk down memory lane, not the memories of our adventurous life on the trail together, but memories of home and family. Sometimes we were actually present in the memory, other times we were looking at a snapshot.

One such snapshot was of two young families, ours and my brother Ernie’s, mingling on Christmas morning. This was not a real memory; my brothers and I are from different generations, with me being the “pleasant surprise” (or mistake) of the family. My kids and his kids, while first cousins, also are different generations and thus were not young together. The significance of that false memory was in the joy of families together while tragedy looms. Ernie’s wife Carolyn died at a young age from cancer, with their children not yet adults.

Soon after that false memory I became aware of Cindy’s tight clutch. Something seemed wrong. A thru-hiker came by (this was a dream, after all) and suggested she was having intestinal problems. I knew that not to be true. Instead I was hit by the revelation that Cindy’s tight clutch, while on our date through memory lane, was because her time had come and this was how she wanted it to end: after a wonderful few days, after a literal walk down memory lane, while holding on tight to me.

That was actually a pleasing, settling thought; there were many worse ends to this I’ve imagined. Still, as I drifted from dream back to reality, I felt the tears leave the corners of my eyes and trickle down my temples. I wondered for an instant if dream indeed became reality, as Cindy seemed to feel heavy on my chest. I spoke softly and she still did not respond. Then I felt another of her involuntary twitches and I relaxed, tears continuing to silently trickle down.