Stilts of Grace: My Narrative - Introduction and Prologue

INTRODUCTION

After some prayer and consideration, I've decided I'd like to begin sharing the narrative accounts I write as I process the events of Heidi's illness and death. Though I've already shared a lot both here and on Heidi's caring bridge site, these are deeper, more intimate memories of events that led to the deep awareness that torrents of grief, grace, and PTSD can co-mingle. 

I will be adding "chapters" as posts, but they will all be compiled after posting in a complete chronological story following the link "Click here for..." just under the blog title. My hope in making this public is that it offers grace - human and divine - to others encountering their own insurmountable difficulties, whatever they may be. Please be patient; while tremendously healing for me, this form of writing does take time and has to be balanced with family life. 

Note: this isn't reading material for children, but I am aware that Heidi's children may someday read this, so I will do my best to avoid descriptions that would be harmful for them to read - if this makes the story less compelling to those outside our family, so be it.

Brief background: Mark's Mum & brother Adam live in Scotland. In August, '22 we were blessed with the opportunity to take our whole family to visit London, where Mark grew up, and Scotland where we spent a week with his family. Adam lives not far from Loch Ness. This mountain adventure was one of the harrowing highlights of our trip.

PROLOGUE: Scotland, August '22

    We drove northwest towards the coast and the mountain hike chosen for our afternoon. The sun and blue sky battled thick low clouds, alternately bathing the countryside in light and shadow that rolled like gentle waves across the lush Scottish hills. I was grateful that Mark was the sole driver for our family on this trip. He grew up in the U.K, and despite having lived in the U.S. for nearly 20 years, driving on the “wrong side”of the road was more natural for him than it could ever be for me. We both felt safer with him driving, but it tugged at my heart that he had to concentrate on the road while I could enjoy the views of his homeland. I refused to squander this gift, and soaked in the beauty of this country with its winding lanes, deep green pastures, ancient treeless highland mountains, and quaint coastal villages.

Pulling into the small parking lot at the foot of our mountain, I glanced up and thought, “This looks doable.” The sky was now overcast and a slight breeze prompted me to grab both my fleece hoodie and jacket, rather than choosing one or the other as I’d planned. Strapping 6 month old Felicity onto my front and making sure all of our children had the layers they might need, I felt ready. Adam, a seasoned sportsman, had hiked this mountain numerous times including with a young niece, although he admitted he had mostly carried her on his shoulders. He had assured us it was quite manageable for even 5 year old Sophie. I had no reason to doubt him, and looked forward to stretching my legs.

Before our hike, our mountain behind us

Although so many parts of this trip were moments I had anticipated, it was for this day that I had intentionally spent months preparing. Never a fan of exercise for its own sake, this trip of a lifetime, and the hope of hiking in the Scottish Highlands, was the carrot I had needed to prioritize reacquiring strength and stamina. The birth of our seventh baby at age 40, just 6 months prior, did not dissuade me from putting in the effort to make sure that I could fully enjoy an afternoon of “hillwalking.”

No sooner had we set foot on the path, a manmade steep trail made of a multitude of small smooth stones crammed together into a slick pavement of sorts, than I began to question just how vastly I may have  underestimated what this particular adventure might require of us. I thought first of my other pair of shoes that I had left in the States that might offer more grip that the new pair I had chosen to bring. With Felicity in the carrier, too little yet to be on my back, I was unable to see my feet; I could see the path ahead, but the placement of each step in these slipper-like trainers was a matter of blind hope. Surely this unusual and challenging trail was just an entrance? No doubt soon we would reach a wider, easier walking trail that would wind its way gently up and around the mountain. 

I was grateful when we exited the manmade stone trail onto a grass-lined switchback, but I  found it was not a wide, flat, kept trail like all I’d hiked in the U.S. This was a narrow, uneven and and unpredictable path, hewn only by others on their way to the summit. There was little to grab but grasses if I stepped wrong, but I was managing and our children were in their element, nimbly scrambling on ahead. 

We stopped for lunch at a large table-like rock that was instantly a playground for “King of the Mountain.” Having not yet begun to wind around the mountain, we could still spot the now-tiny parking lot and the speck of our full-size van far below us. I ate my lunch and discovered a tick beginning to its own luncheon feast on my arm. Adam made short work of getting rid of it for me, and we packed ourselves up and continued our hike. It was colder now, and taking off my hoodie I turned it upside-down, slipped Felicity’s dangling legs into the sleeves, and brought the rest of it up over her body, tucking it into the sides of the carrier. Wrapping my open jacket around us both, we kept each other warm, and I was grateful for my decision to bring both hoodie and jacket.

Lunch

As we rounded the back of the mountain, a strong damp wind howled against us and the trail, no longer a taxing-but-fun clamber up a mountain slope, grew precarious. The rocks and boulders over which we were now climbing were slick from the wet air. On my left, offering nothing to grab ahold of, was the craggy side of the mountain, to my right was the steep descent down rock and grass, no trees or brush to break a tumble down, down, down. With Felicity on my front, unable to see my own feet, and with nothing to grab for purchase, I realized with horror that my instinct to remain protectively close to my children was hazardous. An attempt to catch their stumble or fall could throw me off balance and might kill Felicity. I could not protect or assist them, and with only two other adults to their six lives, they had to climb alone. 

“What are we doing? Why are we continuing? I hate heights! What if one of my children tumbles down the side of the mountain, or I slip and Felicity’s head bashes against a rock?” There were so many frightened thoughts racing through my head. Whatever my vision had been of hillwalking or a hike in the Scottish highlands, it was not this. This was a treacherous climb up a mountain with many young children in tow.

Assurances of, “We’re nearly there!” kept us moving forward rather than turning back. If we were nearing the summit and what was promised to be a smoother descent, there was little to  be gained by turning around. (In hindsight the first few of those assurances were miscalculations.) I sensed paralysis waiting to grip me if I dwelt on fearful thoughts, so in an act of sheer determination, I chose trust: trust in Adam who had been here before, and trust in God to either protect us or give us grace for difficulties when it was needed. With that, I resolutely silenced the, “What ifs.” If anything happened there would be grace then for that particular circumstance. With each step we took, I spoke the truth silently to myself that in that moment everyone was fine, and enthusiastically encouraged our children who climbed on, unafraid. We moved onward and upward, I keeping my eyes on the path just ahead so I could guess where my feet might go two steps on. I refused to look to my right, and hardly dared to watch my children knowing I couldn’t help any missteps, entrusting them to the grace of God. 

Joey was fearless

Gaining the summit at last, we arrived at the narrow peak, barely large enough for the 10 of us. The wind blew fiercely and rain spattered our faces as we looked out on the sea, the surrounding mountains, and the base of our mountain far below. Victorious but frightened more than ever on the exposed peak, we didn’t stay long and eagerly began our descent. 

View from the summit with the carpark visible below

With relief that we had made it, and that the future of this adventure was promised to be less stressful than what had passed, my spirits were up. To my tremendous relief, as we descended around the far side of the mountain, the path widened and soon we found ourselves hiking through what appeared to be open sloping fields. 

We're alive & on the descent!

Our children sped on ahead, leaping downward. However, we soon discovered the open fields were bogs through which the appearance of a path did not forecast how deep into squelching muck an errant step might go. Two of our children were startled but uninjured victims of the deceptive bog. In contrast with the fear of serious injury earlier, these misadventures made us laugh while we consoled them. Joey’s rescue left one of his shoes behind, and Mark reached deep into the muck many times in search of it before successfully pulling it out. A step Sophie took landed her knee-deep, but she was pulled out shoe and all. Both children recovered well and in no time their spirits were up and they were once again charging ahead, finding boulders to climb on as they waited for the more cautious bog walkers. 

Joey, not long before his bog mishap

As we reached the full circumnavigation of the mountain and found ourselves again at the odd manmade stone path that earlier had felt so awkward and cumbersome, I was utterly delighted to see it, not least because it meant we were nearly done. Reaching the van with two mucky children, but otherwise uninjured, we heaved sighs of relief and shouts of joy at what we had accomplished. My months of preparing for this hike had paid off, but more importantly, through the grace of God I had faced and conquered fear on that mountain. Adam, none the wearier for his quick walk through nature, laughed as Mark and I recounted our experience of what felt like a harrowing adventure.

Evidence of the bog

I was blissfully unaware that this mountain and all it had asked of me in those brief hours was a mere noonday shadow of the mountain looming unseen on our horizon. My memory of victory over fear and utter reliance on grace this day would prove to be a source of strength when just months later we found ourselves accompanying Heidi on her climb up to her final summit.