Heading to the peak

Life after losing my husband has been like a long climb.

Illustration: Faye Kliewer

Sometimes life is like climbing a volcano. I have felt like that since my husband of 22 years died suddenly two years ago.

Recently I climbed a real volcano in Guatemala, with the Art & Soul Tour for adults, sponsored by Canadian Mennonite University. My son had climbed the same volcano with Outtatown in 2002, and I wanted to experience some of the things he did.

The first half up the Pacaya was easy, as I rode a small horse. I compare that with the first part of my life with my husband. The horse was following a familiar trail, and being gently led by two young Guatemalan girls.

As the forest cleared away to reveal sparse vegetation and open spaces, the girls brought my horse frighteningly close to the edge of a sheer drop into a barren volcanic wasteland, where lava from the last eruption had hardened. The rest of the journey was on foot, and I was alone except for the guide and several other people travelling along the same trail.

The dismal peak of Pacaya loomed ahead of us. It seemed far away, and impossible to reach. My throat went dry. Briefly, I had second thoughts about going all the way to the rim.

The guide showed us how to climb. Stop as often as possible, he said, and catch your breath. Jab the toes of your shoes into the loose rock for better footing. He told us not to worry. It was not as impossible as it appeared from our present perspective. The fear was in our minds.

The path was made of loose, porous volcanic gravel that crunched under my feet like cereal. My feet sank into it, and many steps caused me to slip and fall behind. It seemed to double the distance.

Arduous

The climb was arduous, not just because of the slope, but from the thinner air. My heart was pounding in my ears; my head felt like it was going to burst. Many times, I wanted to give up.

Instead, I followed the guide’s instructions. His encouragement kept me going. I stopped frequently, not just to rest but to enjoy the view. The higher I got, the more I could see and enjoy. I was able to observe other climbers, be encouraged by their progress, and also help others who needed encouragement themselves.

There was a temptation to look ahead to see how much farther it was, but that was discouraging. The top was not visible. Instead, I looked back to see how far I had gone. It gave me great satisfaction to see that all of my small steps had added up to a great deal of progress.

Alive

Encouraged, I went on, and when I reached the top, I was rewarded. The volcano made sounds like it was breathing. Indeed, it was alive, and sent cinders showering down on its slopes. We were awed by its power, and glad we had made the effort to climb to the top.

I have not finished climbing my real life “volcano” yet, but with God as my guide, I am past a lot of the steep slopes. In my beginning “steps” after my husband died, I was buoyed by the daily prayers of countless family and friends.

The steepest slope was the loneliness. I miss the person who was my soulmate. That slope will always be there, but as time passes, it doesn’t seem as steep. Sometimes though, I feel like I’ve made progress, and then am taken aback by sharp grief attacks – those small steps where one seems to “slide back.”

Today, instead of looking forward too often, I concentrate on the steps I am taking daily, and the new confidence my Guide has given me. I am now able to enjoy the journey, and take deep pleasure in the brief periods of rest and refreshment. Encouraging my fellow travellers in life is a must, as many of us travel a similar path.

How is your climb?

Faye Kliewer attends Portage Ave. MB Church, Winnipeg.