Beauty * and * Bread

Everyone mourns a death in his own way, and that’s as it should be. No one should dictate the “right” way to grieve the passing of a friend or relative.

Stones and Stripes

As is obvious from the multitude of posts since his death on February 7, I am still coming to terms with the loss of Shevy.

You might well ask, “why does it matter to you? You weren’t with him anyway.”

In some ways that’s spot on. Because he’d been angry with me the last time I heard from him, I actually avoided him in our small mountain community. I once went into the Carl’s Jr in Oakhurst, saw him sitting there (he didn’t see me), and I left. I didn’t want a confrontation. But the strange thing is that I knew, with every fiber of my being, that if I’d needed him at any time, he would have come running.

I would have been there for him, too. The picture in my mind’s eye of his lying on his bedroom floor waiting for the help that took too long to come because he couldn’t reach his phone breaks my heart. My brain tells me it’s not your fault. My heart tells me there must be something I could have done.

He was always a friend, first and foremost, and neither of us ever stopped caring about the other. Didn’t stop either of us from getting angry, though.

When his son, Jim, told me he’d died, I couldn’t believe it.  At four months prior to his 80th birthday, he was still out hiking with our Sierra Hiking Seniors and he was still shoveling the mounds of snow that piled up in front of his Cascadel Woods house. In spring he’d mow his 15 acres–carefully avoiding the Elegant Madias and the Five-Spots and the Wild Iris–as he rode. He chopped trees, and he did everything else one has to do to keep a 2,000 sq ft house surrounded by 15 acres up-and-running in the mountains. That he wouldn’t make it to his 80th was unthinkable.

His sons held a BBQ in Shevy’s honor at the Cascadel Woods house on May 1. There was loads of delicious food, most of it prepared by Shevy’s beloved daughter-in-law, Josie. All of his children were there. A number of friends and family came by to pay their respects. It was lovely, but for me it wasn’t Shevy. I guess his daughter, Sara, felt the same way because she asked me later if we could do a hike in her dad’s memory. I agreed immediately because it seemed like the perfect way to remember the essence of who he was.

There were many starts and stops on the way to doing the hike, but on July 5 it all came together. Sara was concerned that the hike wouldn’t attract enough people. I kept assuring her that exactly the right people would be there. And they were. She’d decided that we’d hike the trail to Sentinel Dome, and that seemed perfect, as well. Shevy and I hiked that very trail a number of times when we were together, and it never failed to take our breath away as we gazed out at the 360-degree view of Yosemite from the Dome’s summit.

There were eight of us:  Sara, her brother John and his daughter Anna; Sara’s daughters Angela, Nehanda and Tiana (Tinker) and me.

Nehanda, Angela, Tinker, Anna

John

The eighth person was Paul Williamson.

His military service and the time he spent in Korea during the Korean police action were extremely important to Shevy. I think they ultimately shaped his view of himself and his world. Sara decided to see if she could find a bugler to play taps in order to honor that part of her father’s life. Paul Williamson answered that request. Although Sara had just about decided to give up on the idea, Paul kept calling until finally Sara agreed to his accompanying us. What a surprise we were all in for.

When Sara introduced me to Paul in the Von’s parking lot that July 5 morning, I had a moment of trepidation. Out of earshot, Sara leaned over and whispered in my ear, “he was born in 1918.” Doing some quick mental math, I realized that made him 92 years old.

Sara

How were we going to get a 92-year-old man and his trumpet up to the summit of Sentinel Dome? Yet Paul absolutely refused to back down. He claimed he’d hiked the trail before and was quite capable of doing it.

No matter what, he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. He’d never met Shevy, but he felt some sort of a bond with a fellow veteran. They were a generation apart. They’d served in different wars:  Paul in World War II, Shevy in Korea, but there were so many similarities it was uncanny. It was like having Shevy there with us–and I’m sure he was.

The trail to the Dome is relatively easy as Yosemite high country hikes go. Most of

On the trail

the trail is a bit uneven with a few rocks to watch out for along the way. It seems like every time I hike the trail, though, I forget about the part in the middle where granite rocks and boulders try to trip you up. Unfortunately that’s exactly what they did to Paul. An amazing trooper, he refused to complain, and he refused to turn around. We gave him every opportunity. He said no. Emphatically. But the rock got the better of him, and down he went. Thank goodness John was there to help out. His strength and his training as an EMT, although not put to use in a good long while, came in very handy. He helped Paul up, assessed his condition and, with Sara, bandaged the scrapes to his hand. All of us felt incredibly lucky that he seemed to have suffered no other lasting damage.

John and Sara managed to hoist Paul up and get him somewhat steady on his feet. We were at a point on the trail where it would have been at least as difficult to go back as to continue forward, so we had to make a decision.

“I remember a service road that comes off the trail up ahead. I think it meets with Glacier Point Road,” I said. “If we can find it, we can take Paul out that way. The trail from here on gets much less rocky.”

Paul Williamson

We all agreed that we should find a place along the trail to do the little ceremony we’d planned. We came across the perfect spot. A big granite boulder faced a smaller one with a cut in it, as if it were designed to be a seat. We persuaded Paul that this was the place. Secretly I think he was relieved, although he never came close to admitting it. He grew to seem more and more like Shevy every minute–the Shevy who would never say “quit,” who would give his all for every adventure.

What a blessing that Paul was there for and with us that day.

Tomorrow:  The ceremony to honor Shevy