Tears stream hot down my cheeks as unrecognized emotions pulse through my body. It’s been a beautiful day. Why all these crazy feelings?
Emily P. Freeman once said something about how she doesn’t always know what she thinks until she’s written it down. And so, I sneak off to a quiet space, and I begin to write. I write without judgment or concern for grammar, allowing the words to flow freely from the pen to paper as they will.
Rising with the sun, we had headed an hour west, ready for a new adventure. This Colorado vacation was all about new adventures and the great outdoors, and today we would take on the rapids. Anticipation and excitement grew as we gathered among strangers to gear up and ready ourselves to meet the Animas river.
Yesterday the water of this river was snow on the mountain peaks, and it feels snow cold as it touches our skin. Water levels low from extreme Colorado drought, reveal rocks more frequent along the river. Our guides’ love and respect for the river, contagious as we begin our journey.
Our starting point is calm, but as our four-boat fleet pushes out into the river, the water splashes against the boasts, not from rapids but swimmers jumping into the water. Our eldest sits on the edge of the boat, arms crossed against his chest. He falls back into the water with a subba divers pose, and an ice-cold splash, eager to join the adventure. Strangers are beginning to become friends.
We travel down the river with a party of eleven, adults and youth eager to make the most of the day in two of the boats. The third boat holds a young family, three elementary school-aged girls, from Texas with their parents, and grandma along for the adventure. In our boat, we are joined by an older couple, still full of life left to live, from Arizona. And I marvel at this motley crew, preparing to travel the river together. We are beautiful, old, and young, ready to take in the wonder of the natural world.
“Right, forward two,” “left, back one,” we are sloppy at first, without rhythm as our guide calls out commands for us to paddle. But by the end of the day, our strokes fall beautifully together. We travel through patches of rough waters and smooth floats. The anticipation of the unknown around each curve of the river.
After a break for lunch, we follow the river to a giant rock. The water is deep enough around the rock to allow the brave to jump in. The young girls not strong enough to swim the current are ferried over in their raft and helped to the top—everyone cheers at the bravery of these girls as they jump in. And so, one by one, swimmers cross to the rock, climb to the top and jump in—my own boys among them. My heart swells with pride at the eagerness for adventure that my oldest carries and the bravery that my younger shows as he moves outside his comfort zone.
As I write, I begin to understand the emotion, the tears felt in my body. It is extreme gratitude. Gratitude that not everyone can fully understand.
While white water rafting at this level is not an extreme sport, it does require some level of physical engagement. It has been more than two years since I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. This journey has taught me I can no longer take for granted what my body can do. Every adventure, every journey feels a gift, as there may come a time I am required to be a spectator instead of a participant. For now, the tears speak of sheer gratitude for my ability to enjoy these experiences. As they flow they etch beautiful memories into my heart.
This day I traveled by raft on a mountain river in Colorado,
facing the rapids.Later, the tears of gratitude, allowed to flow freely, provide a new strength for tomorrow’s adventure.
