We had a call from our oldest son, Corey, last night….the one who survived being buried in the avalanche. He and his brother, Taylor, rode their dirt bikes back into the area where they were caught in last winter. I noticed the tone in his voice, amazement as to the debris, boulders, stumps, trees knocked over everywhere. His reply to me, “Mom, I have no idea how I am still alive looking at what I crashed into and through.” Just what every mother wants to hear.
It has taken me months to get back to blogging because the last one was my “unloading” of the accident. Yes, it has taken the stuffing out of me, but what has it done to our sons? They went back and “relived” it once again. The only bit of humor was finding their gear: one ski, one pole, one hand held radio, and the back clip of Corey’s helmet (all of two inches long). They were quiet, taking it all back in. I, too, know that they will go back and retrieve the other ski and the other pole once 12 more feet of snow as melted in the bowl. Their curiosity will lead them back. My wish is they remember how precious life is and how it can be snuffed out in a second. Even the thrill of skiing a new line on untracked snow can blind many of the consequences.
I know they are wiser, older and have a new sense of life’s fragility. But as a mother, hearing they are going to ski into the backcountry…I will say another prayer and then another!
All I ask is they call me at the end of the day…