On Christmas Day morning, I embarked on a mountain adventure with my dad, driving my Xterra. While the spirit of Christmas was alive and well between us, it was also a very tough Christmas. In my lap, I had grandma Shirley's last gift and card. But, I didn't feel ready to open it right away. I just needed to wait for the right time to come. When that was, I didn't know. But, I would know when it was time to open the card and gift.
Dad took us on icy backroads through the mountains. Strong gusts of warm, chinook winds rushed down the mountainsides, occasionally obscuring the road in dust and sparkly snow. My senses felt heightened that day. The sparkly snow in the air reminded me of the colorful orbs I saw in my most recent dream. And, the roar of the wind in the trees and the imposing nature of the mountains reminded me of Elijah's experiences in the wilderness after he ran away from Israel, sick, depressed, and pissed off at God. God was not in the raging wind, or the great fires, or the earthquakes Elijah witnessed while hiding out in a cave. Instead, God was heard in the stillness and silence after the weather died down.
After traveling aimlessly on the winding, icy roads, we finally came to the banks along the northern fork of the South Platte river. We continued to follow the road through the mountains as the frozen winds raged, till we came across a sheltered section of the river to stop at and stretch our legs. There, I got the sense that I ought to bring my Grandma's gift with me along the banks of the frozen river. I can't explain why I felt that way, I just felt it.
My dad had forgotten his winter coat, so I ventured to the banks of the river alone while he stayed put in the Xterra with his maps, trying to figure out where we ought to go next. I plodded to the river's edge, wind-driven snow and dust rushing up against my back. But, it died down almost as soon as I found a place on a driftwood log to sit on right by the icy water's edge. There, everything became still, though not silent.
The fast-flowing sections of the river cut through the ice and burst through small holes and crevices within and around huge granite boulders in the middle of the waters. Songbirds of all types sang their hearts out from the branches of the Aspens and Firs on the mountainsides and along the river's bank. Occasionally, melting snow would plop down from the boughs and branches of the trees, disturbed by the wind and sun's heat. I could even see late-season trout by the rocky bottom of the river, attempting to continue their journey upstream. Then, I heard a familiar noise echo between the mountains. The distance screech of a bald eagle.
In that moment of quiet after the eagle's cry rang out, I inexplicably felt prompted to open my grandma's last card and gift. In a way, I felt I wasn't alone either. A warm, familiar presence seemed to be standing right over my shoulder, waiting for me to open my gift. I knew, damn well, nobody was behind me. I even glanced over my shoulder to make sure my dad hadn't snuck up on me, but he was still hiding from the cold in the Xterra. So, alone but not really, I carefully opened up grandma's last Christmas card to me. I felt a punch in the gut when no words greeted me. Grandma lost her ability to write before she got the card. But, two twenty-dollar bills slid out instead.
"Thank you..." I mumbled aloud to nobody in particular, as I then reached for the gift.
Behind the wrapping paper was an expensive pair of brand new binoculars. They were perfect for spotting wildlife on my hikes and hunts, and they would last me a lifetime! Again, I said my thanks aloud and, with card, cash, and binoculars in hand, I headed back to the Xterra.
I felt as though someone was walking right beside me and behind me, though it was just me (again, I checked). The presence was loving and friendly. It almost felt like my grandma and grandpa were walking back to the car with me. I hiked back onto the road near where the Xterra was parked, just in time to get a face full of dust and snow as another great gust of wind rushed down the mountainside towards me. As the wind roared past my ears, it felt like the presence that had joined me by the river went with it.
It was a strange, strange experience. One that later prompted me to ask my doctors about it, because I was concerned I may be going crazy (spoiler alert: I'm not going crazy or experiencing anything alarming. Apparently, lots of grieving people experience exactly what I experienced). It wasn't threatening, or anything I could see or sense beyond a vague feeling of company (if it was a bear or a cougar I was sensing, the feeling would've been much stronger and sinister). The presence was just peacefully there beside me, in the wilderness alongside the northern fork of the South Platte river.
I like to believe that presence was Grandma Shirley, spending one last Christmas Day with me, if only briefly.
