In memory

On June 16, 2021, my dad fell while descending Mount Raymond in the Wasatch Mountains and died. He was 68 years old.

Ten days later, the shock of this event is only beginning to abate. In an instant, my world collapsed. I finally understood grief, a chasm so deep and wide that I believed I'd never climb out, that I'd never feel anything but waves of pain and numbness ever again. I'm still deep in this pit, but I can now begin to see that this is a journey my family and I have embarked on rather than a place we'll remain forevermore. It is going to be a long, difficult climb. I am not ready to write about it and I'm not sure when or if I'll return to this space, but I wanted to compile some of the items from this week — for the benefit of my family and my future self more than anything else.

Initial news stories:

KSL News

Salt Lake Tribune

Gephardt Daily

Snow Brains

Obituary and tribute walls:

Deseret News

Anderson and Goff Mortuary

Slideshow that I put together for the funeral:

(Direct link) 

Memories I shared at my father's funeral in Draper, Utah, on June 25, 2021:

When I was 11 years old, I had some babysitting money that I wanted to spend on sheet music so I could learn a fun song to play on the piano. My Grandma Homer accompanied my mom and me to the music store. I wanted to buy “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips, but Grandma didn’t like the look of that one. She thought the women on the cover were dressed immodestly. 

Also on the shelf was “Cat’s in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin. I remember thinking, “Oh, look, that’s Dad’s favorite song!” In my weird 11-year-old way, I decided that I should learn that song just in case I ever needed something to play at my dad’s funeral. I don’t remember if I voiced this idea out loud, but I was allowed to buy the Wilson Phillips. 

 Now, I don’t know whether “Cat’s in the Cradle” was then or ever my dad’s favorite song. I just know that every time it came on the radio, he would belt out the chorus while my sisters and I giggled. I thought it was a lighthearted song about a boy who loved his father. I loved the part when the son declared, “I’m gonna be like you, Dad. You know I’m gonna be like you.” 

It wasn’t until quite a bit later in life that I realized the lyrics conveyed the regrets of a father who was too busy to spend time with his child. And I also realized that my dad was nothing like the father in that song. Dad was always there for my sisters and me. There were times when I didn’t so much appreciate that, like when I was a teenager breaking curfew. All the lights in the house would be out and I was certain I’d gotten away with it, only to open the door and find Dad sitting upright on a straight-backed chair in the dark. The street lamp was always shining this eerie light into the room and he had the most stone-faced expression. My sisters agree that “I’m very disappointed in you” was the most chilling phrase in his repertoire. 

Then there was the time he and my mother drove 900 miles to Antelope Wells, New Mexico, to meet me at the finish of a 3,000-mile mountain bike race called the Tour Divide. I’d recently lost a longtime relationship and spent 24 days battling the many ups and downs of the Continental Divide while feeling broken and alone. The final 100 miles of the route crossed this desolate expanse of desert. There were no other humans for miles and my bike was on the verge of falling apart. I’ll never forget the way my heart soared when I caught the first glimpse of them, standing together at the closed gate of the Mexican border and waving their arms. I rolled up to the finish of what was — until now — the most difficult thing I’d ever done. Dad wrapped his arms around my sweaty shirt and said, “I’ve never felt so proud.” That was perhaps the greatest moment of my life. 

My dad of course was the one who introduced me to outdoor adventure. I was 14 years old when he invited me to join him on excursions with an office hiking club that he’d only recently joined himself. At first, I wasn’t entirely sure I enjoyed hiking — it was a tiring, often tedious activity and my feet always hurt afterward. But the views were nice and we often stopped at 7-Eleven for Slurpees after the hike. A few weeks before my 16th birthday, he proposed we climb Mount Timpanogos. This was an intimidating one — requiring 18 miles of walking and nearly a vertical mile of climbing. The ascent was a mix of beauty and misery. I remember stunning fields of wildflowers and also a veritable bouquet of blisters on my heels and toes. As the uphill miles accumulated, I silently made excuses for why I’d never join Dad on another hiking trip. But then we climbed over the saddle, where I caught my first glimpse of the western horizon beyond Utah Lake. I was awestruck by the sweeping view and the sense that the world was so much larger than I could ever understand. I knew then that I’d spend my life chasing horizons. Looking back, I wonder if Dad understood the monster he’d just created. 

 Dad and I shared countless wonderful hiking adventures in the 35 years since then. In 2004 he started an annual tradition of crossing the Grand Canyon from rim to rim. My mom would dutifully drive the four-hour shuttle, and we’d make the long trek — sometimes with friends, and sometimes just the two of us. Dad and I were alike in many ways, and we didn't have to say a lot to convey our love and appreciation of the experience. We made our 13th and final crossing together in September 2019. I called it our “Lucky 13” because he’d just had treatments that gave him enough relief from a bulging disc to make the hike possible, and because the weather was perfect despite the early autumn date. One of my favorite aspects of our Grand Canyon tradition was the way time seems to stand still within it. We’d dip into the morning shadows below the rim and all would be as it had always been. Dad seemed timeless in that place. I’d joke about still doing this when he’s 90. But then he’d wince from back pain and I understood that the world does change. Time doesn’t stop. And I had to cherish every moment we had. 

 I always felt most safe when I was hiking with my dad. He had a calm but strong presence, like a steel rod I could hold to when I felt frightened or weak. I was going to have him take me up Longs Peak in Colorado this summer because I’ve been too scared to do it with anyone else. He was always there for us. All of us. My mom, my sisters, his grandkids, his siblings, his friends. He was our rock. That I have to be strong for myself now is hard, and it’s also hard to acknowledge that the memories we’ve made are now all that I have. But we have many amazing moments behind us; more than a lifetimes’ worth. I cherish them more than anything he could have possibly given me. He’s gone onto the next adventure, chasing the far distant horizons. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to be just like him. 

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon 

 Little boy blue and the man in the moon 

"When you coming home, Dad?” 

"I don't know when" 

 But we'll be together then, Dad 

 I know we’ll have a good time then

Blog posts from past adventures with my dad:

I did it for the views (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, May 2006) 

Catching up (Homer, Alaska, June 2006)

Grand expedition (Grand Canyon, September 2007)  

Soggy Grand Canyon (Grand Canyon, September 2007) 

The parents in Juneau (Juneau, Alaska, June 2008)

Parents part two (Juneau, Alaska, June 2008) 

Vacationy post (Orange County, California, August 2008) 

Happy at home (Orange County, California, August 2008) 

Grand outing (Grand Canyon, October 2008)

Salt Lake City (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, May 2009) 

Southern New Mexico (Tour Divide finish, July 2009) 

Sojourn in the desert (Canyonlands, Utah, April 2010) 

Closer to home (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, July 2010)

One year past (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, July 2010) 

Dad comes to town (Missoula, Montana, August 2010)  

Frustration and awe: The Zion Narrows (Zion National Park, Utah, August 2011)

Lone Peak (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, July 2011)

Great moments (General memories, July 2011) 

Torturing the parents (Los Altos, California, July 2011) 

Fall in the Grand Canyon (Grand Canyon, October 2011) 

Three adventures and a wedding (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2011)

The Zion Narrows (Zion National Park, Utah, July 2012)

Still an incredible ditch (Grand Canyon, October 2012)

White Friday (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2012) 

So maybe I overdid it (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, May 2013) 

Bold return to the Wasatch (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, May 2013) 

My Dad (Father’s Day 2013)  

Shut down (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, October 2013) 

Wasatch mountain bender (Wasatch Mountains, October 2013)

Thankful (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2013) 

And then it was summer (Mount Whitney, California, July 2014)

Still grand, even from a limited perspective (Grand Canyon, October 2014)

Thank you notes (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2014)

Things that last (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, January 2015) 

Week in motion (Orange County, California, May 2015) 

Getting my lungs back (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, August 2015)

Another round in Chamonix (Chamonix, France, August 2015)

Hard-fought failures (Chamonix, France, August 2015)

The Tradition (Grand Canyon, October 2015)

ITI training, week seven (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2015)

Opt outside (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2015) 

Rusted wheel (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, January 2016)

Grand Canyon 2016 (Grand Canyon, October 2016) 

Thanksgiving, again (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2016) 

Actually home for Christmas (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, December 2016)

Parents in Colorado (Boulder, Colorado, July 2017)

38 (Lone Peak, Utah, August 2017)

Fog, leaves and thundersnow (Boulder, Colorado, October 2017)

Pretending it’s not December (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, December 2017)

There’s beauty, heartbreaking beauty, everywhere (Canyonlands, Utah, April 2018)

11th Grand (Grand Canyon, October 2018)

Bookend adventures (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2018)

Lucky 13 (Grand Canyon, September 2019) 

Shoulder season bites back (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, October 2019)

All of the Utah Snow (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, November 2019)

Momentum lost (Wasatch Mountains, Utah, January 2020)

Love on a mountain (Boulder, Colorado, September 2020)

Magic Lands (Canyonlands, Utah, April 2021)  

May snow (Boulder, Colorado, May 2021)