River Crossing
Looking back, I don’t think we were trying to cross the river. I think my husband was trying to get me through the week.
Do you want to try to cross the river?
Absolutely.
Do you think we can do it?
I don’t see why not.
We were ill-prepared. No water shoes, no bathing suits, no real purpose, other than we saw people floating, it looked shimmery and shallow, and we were two happily married people out on a day adventure without our kids.
So, sure, let’s cross it because that might be fun.
It was a quiet day in Leavenworth, just the two of us.
My parents had the boys on a road trip down the coast. My mom and dad had been in town for 12U All Stars and just as soon as the losses happened on Mercer Island, because, of course, we lost to Mercer Island, they headed out on the road.
One of the first nights they were gone, they never checked in. I kept calling their phones and trying to figure out just how far they were driving. I was at the point I was going to call the Oregon Police to see if they had either driven off a cliff or if the news just hadn’t reported a hotel falling into the sea.
I don’t usually worry like that, but I was wound pretty tight that summer. Looking back, my body knew something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
Having free weekends with no kids and no baseball, Tim and I took the opportunity to go into the world.
We would bike to the brewery at night, or go for walks in the neighborhood. We sat in the sun in the yard and ventured out around the lake again on our bikes. I’m pretty sure that is the time my chain snapped in Kenmore and I found another brewery while he found a bike shop. We were sporty and handy.
So, of course, crossing a river with no supplies and no plan would be a breeze.
We had no change of clothes, no water shoes, no snacks. Just water, each other and a why not us attitude that had carried over from the shirts we had made for Little League.
We had reservations for a mud run the next day and were headed to the Gorge the next weekend for a bit of spa time before the start of the new school year. We had plans to be outside, to adventure, to make time for each other. But this day trip was different, it was more spontaneous. It was Tim suggesting a drive and me going along.
I had just finished up what would be my last year teaching fourth grade and was moving into the principalship. It was summer in Seattle. The sun comes out and you feel a tether to leave the house because there is no telling when it might come back out. We have had to reprogram that part of ourselves living in the desert now.
So on this day, walking on Blackbird Island, we convinced each other we could cross the river. It might be useful to know that we stopped at the winery before our hike. That may have contributed to our confidence.
So shoulder to shoulder we set out.
We did not make it far. It was cold and slippery, like a very painful reflexology path that had been chilled to freezing. Did I mention it was cold? We slipped and slid, lost our balance, and held on to each other to keep from going down.
Laughing like kids, we turned back the way we came. We loaded back in the truck and headed home to our poor dog alone for the day.
What you see in the picture is me smiling, sunglasses on my head, Tim with his shorts rolled up, us still going forward enjoying the time alone without kids.
We know the research. We’ve done the work. Taking time together is a priority. The boys know it; we preach it. Our relationship comes first. One of the rules we stand by is to try new things and trust each other. Those skills would be tested with what was to come, in my memory though that wasn’t the point of this trip to the river, but it turns out, it was exactly that.
Looking at these pictures, I see a woman enjoying the moment in front of her. That exact moment. Completely present. I wish I could go back and tell her how proud I am to see that smile on her face. How hopeful I am that she will keep that joy knowing what is to come and what she has just experienced.
Pictures can be like that—you see what’s in the picture and you know what is layered all around it. To you it shows so much more than what is actually there.
For me, looking at this picture takes me back. I know what happened in the days before it.
Messages on Twitter, and then a call. Do you see this? Do you know about it? And I didn’t, I couldn’t, and then I did.
One of my oldest friends had died and the news of his death was out in the world before I knew, before I was prepared. I was gutted. I couldn’t breathe. I never would have been prepared.
We went to a movie after we heard, and even now hearing the music from the soundtrack takes me back in time. Suspended. Shocked. Alone.
In the days that followed, I was stuck. And I had to get my shit together because I was entering one of the toughest seasons–a new job, in a new district doing something I had never done before. I had to find my joy and this picture, this memory, proves I did.
But I didn’t do it on my own.
Tim and I talk about trying to cross this river pretty often. I don’t put it together with the loss of my friend. I just remember us being silly and silly was needed. I’m so grateful Tim knew a change of scenery would be helpful before I ever could.
I don’t think we were ever really trying to cross that river. I just think we were trying to get through the week.
After I finish an essay, I usually discover I'm not finished thinking about it.
These reflections are where I keep wandering.
