Healing Grief in the Wild
I’d like to share some intimate details about my life with you. Keep in mind, that we are all a compilation of stories interwoven into the threads of life like the roots of trees webbing the entire landscape of the planet; interdependent & co-existing in harmony which is something humanity continues to struggle with in modern day times.
My story doesn’t seek sympathy or condolences, rather it’s told to support the pervasive peeling of the collective onion. It’s shared to initiate deeper healing within myself and others.
I once heard someone say, “Take your mess and make it your message.” I cannot recall who but I felt a profound smack right between the eyes; an A-HA moment of sorts. I realized I was going about “healing” all wrong. I mean, I was doing everything textbook, yet standing in the same place.
I was like a duck in water. Peaceful & calm with my head above water but my feet were treading mercilessly underneath the surface.
My family has suffered several losses & tragedies. More than one family should endure. To say we know grief intimately is an understatement.
The particular story I’d like to share this time around is about a larger than life guy named Richie who happened to be my brother.
I’m not sure there are adequate words to describe him. Being in his presence was an experience all of its own. He was charming, charismatic, goofy as heck and a fearless adventurer.
He had an uncanny ability to forge connections quickly. On camping trips, one minute we were setting up tents and the next, 15 surrounding campers, total strangers, were sitting around our campfire singing songs & telling stories.
He was an absolute fire cracker, vibrant, free-spirited and lived his life to the fullest. An adrenaline junkie through & through. I’m not sure I know anyone who lived as fully and boldly as he did.
He was an expert skier & snowboarder. His favorite places to plow through snow were British Columbia & Tahoe. He was ski patrol for a while on Mountain Creek in Vernon, NJ.
He loved the mountains. An avid hiker, he traveled to almost all 50 states, hitting up national parks whenever he could. An eternal explorer, he loved the outdoors.
Richie perpetually immersed himself in experiences where he felt fully alive and free. I’m so happy he gifted himself that. It’s almost as if he knew he was racing time.
On October 2, 2005, a month before I turned 29, my brother was hiking at Acadia National Park in Main & fell to his death. 39 years young. A tragedy & agony I don’t wish on anyone.
Everything changed…I was home in bed, my girls fast asleep when I got a call from my father telling me to get to their house as quick as possible. His voice cracking, I knew he was crying. I also knew someone had passed away. Just getting off the phone with my sister, it was either my mother or my brother.
I pulled up to the house & saw the police car. I knew what this meant. My intuition was on point. I walked in and saw a look on my mother’s face that I wish I could erase from my memory. And I knew my brother was gone.
I was quite dramatic…I need to make light of this as much as possible. Levity helps and is never a bad thing. I ended up collapsing and went into shock when I heard what happened. After every dumb thing my brother did: driving his motorcycle like a maniac, totaling a few cars, sidestepping two avalanches out on the slopes, he died hiking. Of all things. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the news.
There’s a lot that happened in between his death & where I am now in my life. I wasn’t the same person back then. Something began to ignite inside of me upon his passing.
I was afraid of everything. I didn’t take risks, I excelled in risk management. He couldn’t get me out on the slopes or to ride on his motorcycle if he paid me. I didn’t have his fearlessness. I didn’t have his satiety to live life to the fullest. I didn’t have the boldness to grab life by the balls and really live. Until I did….
It took years after his passing and some strategy & deconditioning on my part to untie my knots. And suddenly, I understood the secret sauce to healing. It wasn’t in the endless talk therapy sessions or the crystal bowl sound baths or the books on grief or the masters degree I was pursuing to help other people with their grief.
The healing was in the LIVING. The healing was in seeking joy. The healing was in springtime blooms, autumn crisp air, snowflakes on my tongue. It was in the random conversation at a cafe with strangers, the warmth of my herbal tea, the hugs from my daughters, the hello from a passerby. It was in the beaches, mountains, rivers & lakes.
Hiking isn’t just walking in the forests or woods for me. It’s medicine for my soul. It’s connection & protection. It’s a blessing & a prayer. It’s a perpetual gift of healing. It’s a continual conversation with the spirit of a beloved young guy who took his last breath among the mountains & trees.
My mantra in life has become, “What would Richie do?” And then my job becomes holding my own feet to the fire and doing it in spite of my fear & self doubts.
Hiking heals. Nature is medicine.
Thank you for dancing in the embers of this thing called life with me.
Cheers to Boldness & Bravery