When George and I travelled to Taos, New Mexico it was my first encounter with a large mountain range. Since then I’ve been wanting to return to the Rockies and go hiking. Everyone says the trails in Colorado are stunning and impressive. I think those who are saying that the Rockies are impressive have never been in the Alps. The moment we closed in on the Alps the enormous snow covered peaks and lush green bases stole my breath. Base jumpers were floating downward while the gondolas were gracefully ascending. Many think of palm trees and oceans lapping against the shore as paradise, the quiet monster of the Alps quickly became my paradise.
The beauty of the small villages tucked within the mountains nearly brought me to tears. As you travel toward the tops of the mountains, small streams create the lacework of the land. And the villages become the mountains adornments. At the top, you’re among the clouds, the air is cooler but the grandeur of the world is all around and beneath. I felt at peace, and yet the weight of grief trampled me. Something so stunning and all I wanted to do is share it with George.
I sometimes feel so guilty that I’m getting these wonderful experiences without him. Especially when I know he would have been just as enamored with the scenery as much as I was. But I also know he would want me to experience life to the fullest, with or without him. I told my sister at the end of our day that if George was still alive, I wouldn’t be experiencing this moment. There’s so much life to be had. I look at these mountains, and if there wasn’t any snow, there would be no streams, and without streams there wouldn’t be any villages. Without all those things to make it wondrous, what would be left? Just a massive rock formation. Without George, that’s how I feel; together we were beautiful.