My mother’s body and soul were products of the desert sands of of the Southwest. She was a woman of the red soil. She was a woman of the aspen covered mountains and arroyos and rivers. She was born and came of age in New Mexico. She went away to go to school in Colorado where I was born. I came forth from the Rockies and streams and pine trees. She raised her young family in Arizona surrounded by giant Saguaro cactus and orange sunsets. She eventually finished her career as a nurse in the Sonoran desert. Finally she aged and died in the shadow of Zion’s cliffs in Utah. The intersection of the land and spirit of these four unique states, made her who she was.

While living in Arizona she developed a deep love for the Grand Canyon. She honeymooned there and returned to its rims several times.  She was a lover of wide open space and expansive views. She loved Bryce Canyon and Cedar Breaks in Utah. She often would stop at look outs and view areas so we could take it all in. She loved the contrast of Red Rocks and Blue Skies most of all.

 I knew my mother had a secret dream to ride the rapids of the Colorado River and to make a trip through this wonder of world. But, I also knew that as much as my mom had wanted to make this trip while she was alive, she also had a deep fear of rushing water. It was a fear so deep that it would have never allowed her to actually go on the trip and ride the rapids. So when the opportunity came for me to do it, I jumped on it– for my own love of adventure, but also for my Mom’s.

I hoped that somehow my Mom knew that I was on this trip that she had so wanted to make. I really wanted her to know that I was now getting to live her dream. I wanted her to know that it was as glorious and grand as she could have imagined. I wanted to see it through her eyes, I wanted her near me. I quickly realized though that I was going to have to face some of my own fears. It began on night one as my grandsons found a lot of scorpions under our cots with their black lights. I made a strong mental note to self. Don’t ever walk barefoot in the sand. Laying on my cot the first night watching the bats circle over my head, with creatures crawling underneath me, I smiled, arranged my lifejacket under my head like a pillow and conquered. 

It was night three that eventually brought me face to face with my mom. The heat had been oppressive that day. We had stopped early in order to get in the shade. Temperatures were hovering around 110 to 115 degrees. The outfitters we were with did an excellent job of keeping us hydrated and our electrolytes balanced. We all went to bed early. Our cots were just a few feet from the river that night. I fell asleep with the rushing sound next to me. We were also down in the Grand Canyon during the time of the devastating fires on the North Rim. This was the only evening when you could smell the smoke wafting down from above us. 

Sometime around midnight I woke up, sort of. The sound of the water, stirred memories of a recent flash flood that had swept through a town in Texas, taking with them a camp full of young girls. The smell of the fire and the hot night combined with my body becoming dehydrated and it all overwhelmed my system. In the darkness, I truly felt like I was about to be swept away by both water and fire. Reality and my imagination battled.  I was able to gather my senses enough to call out to my daughter who brought me gatorade and covered me with a wet towel to bring down my temperature. Our mind can play strange games with us at midnight in the wilderness. I now understood my mother’s fears and experienced some more of my own. But then a little miracle happened. My body balanced itself. My temperature cooled, the moon began to rise above the canyon wall. Light filled the sky.  The rushing waters sounded more like gentle waves, and I felt peace. Total peace. My fears all quickly abated. 

I began to feel the tears streaming down my face. In this moment, under an almost full moon, I felt my mom close. I slept. Everything was fine.

The next several days were filled with glorious views. Peaceful drifting. Music bouncing off of cavern walls. Star filled nights. Laughter. Hearty meals. Bonding with grandchildren. Turquoise colored water. Ubiquitous crows…always my spirit animal. A rare sighting of a wise owl. And one evening while listening to a playlist curated by a much younger guide, I smiled when I heard one of my mom’s favorite songs, Strangers in the Night,  playing in the background,  She let me know that we were “tripping” together.

On the final day, I stayed back while the younger and more nimble fellow passengers climbed the slot canyon. Sitting alone, my feet in a cool stream, deep in a canyon, I picked up a heart shaped rock and thanked the universe for bringing me to the place. I was deep in the earth and far from everything and everyone, I could feel my mom close to me. For a few precious moments we communed together. I was reminded once again of the message she always seems to communicate to me…do not take it all too seriously and don’t let your fears get in the way of seeing how very, very beautiful this one precious life can be!