Reading for Dad: "Where the Mountain Casts Its Shadow" by Maria Coffey
by Jenners • 02/18/2010 • Non-Fiction • 27 Comments
As many of you already know, my father died in a mountaineering accident this past August. It was a shocking loss for our family. You’re never really “ready” for someone you love to die, but when they die so suddenly and unexpectedly and in such a dramatic way, it really throws you for a loop. I’ve written other posts about my dad’s death, but one thing I decided to do a few weeks after he died was to create a list of books that were meaningful to him in some way and read them as a way of maintaining a connection with him and exploring the books that he always meant for me to read but I never did. The first book I chose to read was Where the Mountain Casts Its Shadow by Maria Coffey.
You may think it is an odd choice to read a book about “the dark side of extreme adventure” so soon after my father’s death in a mountaineering accident. The book is about what compels men and women to pursue the dangerous sport of mountaineering and the consequences of loving people who pursue such risks, including the constant threat of bereavement and the lives shattered in the wake of climbing accidents. Coffey herself was driven to write the book after her boyfriend Joe Tasker disappeared on the Northeast Ridge of Mount Everest in 1982.
I chose the book because my father himself recommended it to me—in the only comment he ever left me on this blog. His comment was:
“Because it is there.” Mallory’s quip was his terse answer as to his rational for climbing Everest. Maria Coffey in Where the Mountain Casts Its Shadow gives a more comprehensive answer but the primary focus is the detritus that the spouse, friend, parent, child and sibling experience when a climber selfishly departs for climbing is a selfish and dangerous endeavor.
Joe Tasker and Peter Boardman vanished on Everest in 1982; Maria Coffey was Tasker’s partner who reveals “the exhilarating highs and inevitable lows, the stress of long separations, the constant threat of bereavement” even with a successful expedition. The loved ones of servicemen and women know these stresses. Top climbers, their widows and families interviewed include Jim Wickwire (read Addicted to Danger), Conrad Anker (married to Alex Lowe’s widow), Joe Simpson (read Touching the Void), Anatoli Boukreev (hero/goat of Into Thin Air fame), Chris Bonington and many others.
The subtitle aptly summarizes this work “The Dark Side of Extreme Adventure.”
I’m sure my dad never thought that he himself would be the one to make this book so personally relevant to me. In the days immediately following his death, my mind flew to his comment about this book, and I felt compelled to read it immediately. I think I was searching for answers to help make sense of what had happened to my dad. In my grief, I think I took his comment as a premonition of some sorts; a way of leaving me a “clue” or a sign post to help me understand what had happened to him. I know that my dad had given this book to a friend of his whose fiance had been killed in an avalanche while hiking in the Himalayas so I know he saw this book in that light—as one that could provide answers and comfort to those left behind.
As with all the posts in this reading project, I’m writing a little bit about why I read the book and then I’ll write a letter to my dad about my thoughts after reading it. In this small way, I feel like I’m able to still talk to him and share a connection. As emotional as it is to do this, I’m hoping to find it healing as well.
Dear Dad,
Well, I finally read the Maria Coffey book you told me about. I’m sure you had no idea about the circumstances under which I would be reading it, but I thank you for pointing me to it. It gave me lots to think about in the weeks after you died.
Please don’t take this the wrong way, but, in many ways, I’m almost glad that you died the way you did. I know you always made us promise that we wouldn’t put you in a nursing home, and you dreaded becoming incapacitated or helpless as a result of aging. I know that seeing your patients suffer from Alzheimer’s or multiple sclerosis and other cruel diseases made you fear a similar fate for yourself. I remember you telling me about a patient who literally became trapped in his own body, with his brain functioning but unable to communicate or move in any way. Being unable to be your full self was something you dreaded and feared. The fact that you died while doing what you loved and in full health is an odd blessing in a way. You didn’t have to face these fears, and we didn’t have to watch you suffer.
Mom and I talked about how it might have almost been worse if you had survived the fall but been paralyzed or brain-damaged. I think that would have been more painful than just losing you altogether in one swift stroke. I know I couldn’t have handled seeing you that way. You would have hated it and been so angry. Perhaps it would have given us a chance to say goodbye to you, but I wouldn’t wish that horror on you just to gain a sense of closure for myself. I know that you loved me, and I know you know I loved you. And in the end, what more is there really to say?
I know that being in the mountains was a form of escape and relaxation for you. It was one of your passions, and I know it brought you peace and stillness in a way that nothing else could. Mom and I talked about how being in the mountains was like your going to church. It was your form of spirituality, your way of seeking God and achieving peace from the stresses of life. I want you to know that we all understood this, and I didn’t begrudge you the chance to seek this outlet that I know you so dearly needed. I know Mom understood your need for this. Why else do you think we all moved out to Montana?
You mentioned in your comment about the “selfishness” of climbers, and this is touched on again and again in Coffey’s book. How can climbers who love others cling to such a dangerous pursuit, where the possibility of death hangs like a shadow over every expedition? The climbers in the book talk about how they didn’t feel fully alive unless they were on the mountain. That without it, they were only shells of themselves. And even the angriest and most grief-stricken loved ones left behind attest to this truth. For those who have “mountaineering in their blood,” it simply isn’t an option to not do it. It would be like being half-dead. And if you truly love someone, can you ask them to give up an essential part of themselves? It is a difficult question to answer. Part of me thinks: “Well, if you loved me, you wouldn’t put yourself in this position to let something awful happen to you.” Then another part of me thinks: “But is it fair to deny a person you love the thing they fuels their happiness and passion and fire and makes them who they are?”
In the end, Dad, I don’t think you were selfish. I know you were careful and planned and took as many precautions as you could during your trips. You pursued this sport for years with nothing bad happening, and I think that lulled all of us into a sense of safety. When I head you were going up to Glacier that weekend, I didn’t think twice about it. You went there all the time. However, I think I can say this because you got to see your kids grow up, you saw your grandchildren, you had 42 years with Mom, and you left Mom well taken care of as far as finances. Had this happened when we were small and we never got to know you, I think it would be much harder for me to say this. I think the widows in the book who lost their husbands while they had several small children had a much harder time coming to terms with it. It is all a matter of degrees. If you had this accident when you were 45 instead of 65, it would have been a whole different story.
But we’re talking about your story here. I think, in a weird way, you might be glad you “went out” the way you did. It was bold and spectacular and dramatic. As they say, “Better to go out with a bang than a whimper.” You were not a whimpering type of person, Dad. We all know that. We loved you for who you were. We miss you terribly, and we all wish you were still here. But still, part of me is glad you never had to face a debilitating illness or dementia. Mom and I talked about how you never know what is around the corner, waiting for you. Perhaps in a year you would have been diagnosed with cancer and spent the remainder of your days wasting away in pain. That would not have suited you at all. I prefer to think that God gave you a beautiful death that was suited to who you were and saved you from experiencing that which you dreaded and feared above all else. Your death is a reminder to all of us that we never know what is coming so live fully in the now. Love those you are with while you are with them. Experience life fully without waiting. In Coffey’s book, so many of the loved ones left behind say “His death jolted me alive” or “I started living life with a vengeance.” Could there be a better legacy than that?
I miss you, Dad, and I always will. I wish we could have gotten to talk one last time or had a chance to say goodbye. I wish we could have had more time together. But wishes won’t make that happen. I accept what happened to you, and I hope to visit the place where you died in the near future. I know it is beautiful, and I think it will help me to achieve some closure by being there.
Love always,
Jen
My Dad … In His “Happy” Place
I wish you the best
I recommend you Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Aldom
A beautiful letter Jenners. Your father was a true adventurer. Sounds like he loved all the beauty and grandeur of this wonderful world. What a nice happy photo of him to make us smile too.
Hugs, hugs, hugs, hugs…
What a beautiful letter to your father. It brought tears to my eyes. My father died unexpectedly 10 years ago, and I'd long wished I'd been given a chance to say goodbye. But you are so right. If I know he loved me and he knew I loved him, what else was there to say? Thank you for making that clear to me.
–Anna
Diary of an Eccentric
So many times I laugh hysterically at your posts. This time I have tears trying to make their way down my face.
You have written a beautiful letter to your father, Jen. I think that reading this book was probably very difficult, but that it sounds like it gave you some much needed reassurance about your father's need to be on the mountains.
My own father died of cancer, a fast-growing cancer. In a matter of months he went from his fun-loving self to just a man trying not to show fear or pain to his family. I would never wish cancer on anyone and I would never wish for someone to have to pass in as much pain as my father was in. Nor do I wish on anyone to have to watch a loved one suffer. So in a way I am also glad that your father passed in the way he did- doing what he loved and feeling free- and not trapped in a body that is no longer working. And I am glad you did not have to witness that. Your memories of your father are of his free and adventure-seeking spirit.
I admire your ability to read books your father read just months after his passing. It has been a year since my father died and I am still procrastinating this step. But I will get there in my own time I suppose. It kind of helps to know that a friend is there with you.
Jenners, this is such a wonderful letter. I truly believe that it's better to die doing something you love, and I'm glad that you see how happy it made your dad. My dad died a lingering death from cancer, and yeah, that's so not the way to go. It took me quite awhile to remember him as the man he was before he was sick.
Anyways, kudos to you for writing such a brilliant letter.
I'm in tears and that's just about all I'll say, except I believe in supporting our loved ones' passions, and that is something your father was lucky enough to have gotten from his family.
Jenners,
This must have been a hard post to write, and then decide to share. I'm glad you did. I think it's a wonderful idea to try to maintain a closeness to a loved one through the books they loved.
What a beautiful post. Thanks for sharing!
What a beautiful letter and tribute to your dad! This sounds like a great book to read too.
I love what you said about allowing people their passion and that which fuels their happiness and passion. I know a lot of people wonder how I can be so relaxed about my husband cycling on the highways all the time, and that's a big part of it. It's not going to make either of us happier if I'm stressing about it. I just hope and pray that nothing ever happens when he's out on the road and choose not to worry about it. (And of course, we do a lot of talking and planning in case anything ever happens.)
dear jen,
what a lovely idea to write letters to your dad.
it is such a poignant way to honor a life well
lived.
never understood mountain climbing but do
know what it is like to be consumed by loving
something or someone.
i have a suspicion that you have a healthy dose
of an adventurous spirit, too.
thank you for responding to my blog question.
it was very helpful and prompted others to give
their input, as well.
love your book blog…love books.
blessings,
lea
My father died twenty one years ago, and yet I still think I see him once in awhile (lots of men resemble him from the back), and every time I feel a shock and then loss all over again. What a wonderful post. Love to you. m
*tears** so beautiful!! thanks for sharing this…
Very sorry to learn of your loss of your dad. This is a wonderful tribute to him. ~ peace ~
Just beautiful, Jen. I hope the other books you read for this project all help lead you through the healing process as well as this one has. ::hugs::
What a fantastic way to stay connected to your father. I talk to my father, 5 years gone now, but have not thought about leaving him a note.
Goodness, I almost cried. What a beautiful post and tribute.
That is a really lovely letter and a really nice way to communicate with your father. I hope that it has helped you deal with the grief.
I totally get wanting to read books to help you make sense of what happened and I hope that it helped.
Great letter! And I totally agree with you. There are plenty of horrible ways to go out, full of suffering, and it's a consolation that he didn't have that. My husband generally says if he dies in a ski crash, I should be happy that he would have been totally happy going out doing what he loved. (This usually in response to "you better wear your blankety-blank helmet!)
All that said, I myself can hardly bear to look at the picture from the very day your dad died; it is amazing that you can. He would be so proud of all your tributes and your coping and sharing!
This is such a touching post and a beautiful tribute to your father. Thank you for sharing it here with us.
My sincere condolences in your loss.
What a beautfiful tribute to your dad as a way to stay connected to him. I am sure witing this post took a lot of out of you and I appreciate you sharing. Next time let me know so I can have a tissue on hand.
Such an incredible post. Thank you for this, and as someone who has also lost a father (25 yrs ago this week), my deepest sympathies to you and your family.
This post on top of your haircut? Wow. I only hope that I take the death of one of my parents with such grace that you have shown. Especially because of the way your dad died…you are truly an inspiration. I imagine this was harder to read and write about than you are letting on. This was a really good post.
Okay, if you write any more posts like this, you are going to have to send me a box of tissues. I cried like a baby as I read your beautiful post.
This is such a beautiful post and such a fitting tribute to your father. Your insights into why your father loved mountaineering and how his dying they way he did was fitting for someone who never wanted to be incapacitated or lose his mind, will save you a lifetime of bitterness. It is incredibly courageous and wise for you to be able to view things the way you have expressed in this letter. I can only imagine how proud your dad is of you and your mother right now.
What a marvelous tribute to your father. Thank you for posting this one. It took courage to do.
WOW – such a thoughtful post. It sounds as though this book allowed you to experience some emotional healing, and that is such a blessing.
My father died unexpectedly about 4 years ago, but while I was Daddy's little girl, he and I grew apart over the last few years. You and your father seemed to have shared an absolutely wonderful relationship that never waned. While I know that makes it difficult to say good-bye, what a wonderful legacy he has left behind for you, your mom, and the little one.
Sending you cyber hugs!!
That is such an emotional post – you brought a tear to my eye. Your love for your Dad comes through so clearly and I'm sure he would be so proud of you.
If you want to read any other mountaineering books then I recommend Joe Simpson. I loved all his books. They all cover the joy of mountaineering combinded with the danger. I think Touching the Void is the best. It has also been made into a fantastic film, with one of the best 'extra' features I've ever seen – a documentarty of the author and his friends returning to the scene of an accident to film some shots for the film.
Congratulations again on writing such a great post. I'm sure it was an emotional event for you *HUGS*