Morning Walk

The weather for November in Colorado has been balmy. We've hardly seen snow yet this year. A dusting or two, but the temperature has been close to the 60's. These conditions make it nice for walking. So, on the weekends because Eddy is home and can get up with the boys, I wake up a little earlier and go for walk around Evergreen Lake with Huey. I see this as my "Weston time" as I associate wildlife with Wes and it is in abundance on my walks.

As we leave the house, the deer look up from their munching. We pass elk who barely acknowledge our presence as we walk down the road to town. Strolling past the stream that leads to the waterfall, we see a dozen ducks floating down the way. Up in the trees the black crows are obnoxiously cawing their heads off. A comorant is usually sitting atop the waterfall dam preening. If we're lucky, we'll see a muskrat in the lake, but definitely a few more duck and maybe a couple of geese gathering. And the birds are everywhere. Unfortunately I have not taken the time to get to know all of their names - but I'm hoping for many years to come to get to know them with the boys. On an exceptional day, we'll see my guardian hawk.

Usually we pass a few fishermen and women and a walker or two, but the lake is mostly ours. Today the moon was still up and I loved looking at its reflection in the lake.

I feel so blessed. I know Wes walks with me and enjoys the beauty and bounty that surrounds us. I know he loves Evergreen for its wildlife and is as disgusted with its ongoing development as I am frustrated by it - the yin and the yang of life.

Not by chance

I wrote this in late February, figuring I would try and remember the first time I met Wes. It has been sitting on my computer’s desktop since then. Not sure why- I guess part of it stems from me wanting to add a beginning that included a student of mine that passed away in early March. This student had come to visit me a the end of February, very excited that he had received his GED and was off to Job Corp. Two weeks later, after a late night celebration he was gone. I questioned why he had come to visit me, and a good friend of mine told me it was because he wanted to let me know he was ok. Guess it just took me a while to believe that and finish this story on meeting Wes.

I met Wes when he was a freshman and I was a sophmore in high school. The first time we “met” was not really meeting- it was more I thought he was a jerk and he thought the same of me but would have used another word. It was the beginning of the school year and my friend Christy and I were on our way to class. We came upon the beginnings of a fight- and like we did with every fight we witnessed we had to start yelling “don’t do it, or no stop!”

It is funny now, working in a middle school, there is the random fight here and there but I never see or hear students yelling to break it up. They circle around and watch- in awe or shock. But, it is usually me or some other staff breaking it up. So maybe Christy and I were wierdos to yell and stop fights. I know Wes looked at me like I was.

Him and another boy were exchanging words and Wes seemed to be the angrier of the two- I later found out this was over a girl. Anyway, Christy and I started yelling at Wes to stop and leave the other guy alone. He looked down at us- and the look on his face said it all. Basically, who do you think you are and mind your own business- with a bunch of cuss words and gestures mixed in. There was no fight and Wes walked off. I don’t think we are the ones who stopped it- I think it was more like Wes thought we were so dumb that the moment was over. That was the first time we met, can’t really call it meeting. We would talk about this event later when we were friends, and he was sure to let me know how stupid it was of Christy and I to do that. Stupid because he was not wanting us to get hurt, he was sure to let me know that some other guy might have turned his anger towards us. When Wes cared about people, for real, he really did care about them. I know he always had this fear that I was going to get hurt- I don’t know why he worried so much. He worried more about others than he did himself. Now, if he didn’t care for you that was another story.

It would be months later that we actually met. It was through friends. There was a big group of us hanging out at Denny’s one night, like we did so many nights. Coffee, cigarettes, laughter and talking- The Denny’s on Union housed many nights of random drama, fun, chaos and much more from our high school days. On this particular night there was about ten of us sitting around a table- Wes was being so loud it was hard not to notice him. But, not only was he loud he was being very funny.

Earlier I wrote that Wes cared very much and worried- but not often enough for himself. Sometimes he would take risks and do or say the craziest things- that someone like me just didn’t get. I think this is why I was first attracted to him.

My memories of high school are very random and in a strange order but I know after this our friends became friends and we hung out together more.

I remember another random night shortly after this one. A friend of ours had a Colt- a cross between a mini van and SUV. Nine of us fit in it and one particular night we drove around in that thing for hours. It was like cruising but we would have never called it that. We went to Red Rocks that night and Wes threw a bottle on the stage, which broke and echoed all over. Someone yelled police and we ran in all different directions- we just happened to run in the same direction and hid together. No police were there- but that sealed it I had a crush on the kid. I think back on first meeting (for real) Wes and the image that pops in my mind is his big smile, full of braces, and his bright blue eyes. Of course, we were much too young at the time to have real relationship- but we had a lot of fun. Wes made me feel a lot of things, but what he made me feel the most was special (most guys at that age do the opposite). I felt special because I got to know the real Wes, the one only a few people knew. The reader, the outdoorsman, the comedian, the advocate, - a person he was proud of being. I don’t believe anything is by chance- I met Wes for a reason- I stayed friends with him for many years after that first meeting because of who he was and how I felt when I was around him. He taught me a lot and to this day is still teaching me, reminding me with his memory and who he was. Care for others, don’t give up on people, don’t take life too seriously- and most of all enjoy life- every moment of it.

11 Years...

Just as I have done for the previous 10 years, I try to spend the day doing something special in memory of Weston. Yesterday I went skiing at Mary Jane. It worked out well since the anniversary fell on a Saturday. When I was living in Steamboat I would ski on the anniversary regardless of the day of the week -- that's what you do in Steamboat. It usually coincided with a powder day and a memorable day in the mountains. Yesterday the conditions were not great and I did not ski well. I'm usually very controlled and yesterday I was not. Of course I would think of Weston, refusing to turn, going faster than he should, but still looking in control in a chaotic sort of way. I admired that about him. There was simply no fear. I still admire that.

I've been trying to think about some memories of Wes that perhaps others would not know. Interestingly the first memory that came to mind was from when we were kids. I'd say were were no older than 7 or 8. There was an open space across from his Mom's house that, from a young kid's perspective, seemed like endless wilderness. We would wander over there, finding hide outs, building tree houses, searching for "ancient artifacts" like rusty nails and shattered glass. We would lose ourselves in that wilderness. Even though we were always within shouting distance of his Mom's house, we might as well have been on the moon.  We would point out the wildlife. He taught me how to spot hawks, grouse, coyotes, foxes. I remember a day we (actually he) spotted a full grown bull elk. It was huge, graceful, spectacular. Wes quietly watched as I tried to stop myself from talking. He was calm. He just sat there taking it in. That sort of experience was the essence of life to him. He taught me how to appreciate it. He taught me that the bull elk, the coyote, the hawk were not intruding on our territory, but quite the opposite. We were visitors in their environment and the best way we could show respect was to stay out of the way and quietly observe.  I will never forget that elk. It is still vivid in my mind. So is the picture in my mind of Wes sitting in a tree, just staring and counting the points on its majestic rack. 

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday and I tried to explain to him that I can split my life into two parts: the part before Wes died and the part beginning February 23, 1997. Wes' passing inspired me to live my life -- truly LIVE my life. I still love skiing, hiking, camping, anything in the outdoors. Each year I take a few backpacking trips. I'll load up my 40 pound pack and trek in the backcountry for a few days or a week. I'll go days without seeing or hearing another person. It's funny that no matter how far I get from civilization, I have never felt as far away and free as I used to in that open space across from Weston's house when we were kids. It's funny how that works. 

Wes was a hunter. My parents did not allow me to have guns. They tried to teach me that killing animals for sport was wrong. To this day I still struggle with that. I don't think I could kill an animal for any reason except survival. I often wonder how Wes felt after he shot a deer or an elk or even a pheasant. I wonder if he would feel guilt or if he would feel upset. I imagine that he did. But I also think he had an understanding with them that it was somehow necessary. He needed their meat, and in a strange way he needed the activity -- it was an escape from human reality for him. I think the animals understood. Wes would never allow them to suffer. There was a mutual understanding that he was higher in the food chain. It was a basic rule of nature. Wes understood that more than anyone and taught me to understand that as well. I still can't kill an animal for anything but survival, but I don't have a problem with people that can -- as long as they are making full use of the resources that they are killing for.  Just another example of how grounded, respectful and aware he was his entire life.

I realize that many of my most vivid memories of Wes are from our days sharing a house in Santa Rosa. That's understandable since it is the most recent and it was also a time when we got to know each other again. We had grown apart in high school as we followed different paths. But the friendship and brotherhood was always there. Wes was friends with many people that would have loved to see me fall. For whatever reason I did not endear myself to certain people and I think it was because I was too introspective and analytical for my age. People are intimidated by differences at that age. Wes, however, would never let anything happen to me. The loyalty never went away even when we were not as close. As Wes began to grow out of that stage, we discussed moving to California for a fresh start. We became best friends again. Neither one of us had a lot of friends out there because we were both shy and had a hard time meeting people. Wes made friends with some people that we was working with. I remember one night, I was feeling really low and he had plans to go out. Before he left he offered to stay home and hang out with me, but of course I was stubborn and told him to go. He left and about 15 minutes later the phone rang and it was him. He gave me another chance to change my mind and offered to come back home. I refused. He told me he would ask his friends if I could join them, but I said I wouldn't go. I finally convinced him to go have fun and I would be fine. We both hung up the phone. About 20 minutes later Wes walked in. Quite irritated by this point, I asked him what he was doing home. He said that he preferred to stay home. That's all. He didn't say that he felt sorry for me or that I ruined his plans. He didn't even admit that he was worried about me. He just said he wanted to hang out at home. I knew better. Wes felt a responsibility to be with me, just as I felt the same responsibility when he was low. I still get a lump in my throat when I think about that. 

On August 19, 2000 our friend Kyle died, barely 3 years after Wes. Wes, Kyle and I were friends since we were about 4. Kyle's passing was especially hard because him and I leaned on each other quite a bit after Wes died. A few weeks after Kyle died his family asked a few of us to hike to the summit of The Mount of the Holy Cross to scatter his ashes. It was a long and miserable hike (beautiful nonetheless), but of course we all agreed. For 31/2 years I had saved some of Wes' ashes. Yes, it's a bit twisted, but you do funny and sometimes twisted things when you are grieving. We had scattered some of Wes' ashes at Goat Rock on the California Pacific Coast. It was Wes' favorite spot out there and worthy of a "burial". For some reason, though, I saved some of those ashes. When we carried Kyle to the top of Holy Cross, I of course brought Wes along for the ride. At the summit we reminisced about Kyle. No one knew that I was there for (and was carrying) Wes also. We each took a small bag of Kyle's ashes and went to an isolated spot on the summit to pay our tributes in our own way. I let go of Kyle from one hand and Wes from the other. Even though we had done the same in California for Wes, setting him free on the summit of Holy Cross along with Kyle made me feel a sense of honor, respect and a bit of closure. I know Wes is grateful for that. Not even a few seconds after I threw Kyle's and Wes' ashes from the summit, two hawks circled overhead. No doubt who they were and what they were doing there. Both Wes and Kyle were always troubled beings trapped in the wrong body. They were not meant to walk on this earth, they were meant to fly above it. 

I hope this blog will inspire me to remember the things I've forgotten. The pain of how our time in California came to an end sometimes overshadows the times we had growing up in Colorado. It's probably the trauma. Reading the memories from others helps me remember as well. It makes me smile. I know he must be smiling too...

Jason -- 24 February 2008