I remember the moment like it was yesterday. We took a drive up Alger Mountain to watch the dogs run and enjoy the space of the trees, the quiet, and the peace. My memory was filmed through a lens peppered with snowflakes and the rebellion of being on the fire trail was exciting. The slow crunching of the truck wheels on fresh snow, the pace of relaxation being led by your two Huskies who were eager to run the trail. The warmth of the cab, the closeness of connection, and the safety for use in your space with your family. The trip took about an hour in total, but it lasted a lifetime…

What I never talked about was the need for such safety among you. The level of damages and chaos that consumed my life, the requirement for me to be responsible when I had no business trying to be so, the person that was failing life right in front of you… stoically… failing. Broken and failing and finding relief only in desperate grasps. My sense of peace became better placed in your grace than in my home. But regardless of how I felt about myself at that moment, how I did or didn’t show it, how I wasn’t coping, or the fact that time and space with your safety wasn’t just a want, but a need, the kindness, and beauty you knew how to produce are what you gave.

I can still see the faces of all of us and the wagging tails of those dogs. We came off the mountain that day to dry clothes and cocoa. I came away from that day (and many like it) knowing that beautiful people do exist, even in times I wasn’t convinced I was worth knowing them. It’s been over a decade and who I was in that moment has gone through deep evolutions of amazing revelations. Who you were, who you are, make me humbly grateful to have experienced you, your kindness, your humanity… that grace. I do hope the dogs get to run that trail from time to time and I hope I’m not the only one from that truck with a memory of that day. Over the years I’ve found continued peace from my reflections on the mountain…

by Rory Andes

When I remember you, I remember the way I felt and I smile…

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Rory Andes 367649
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