Everest

Phoebe is over my shoulder, then grabbing the mouse and clicking her way around the site I'm on http://www.alanarnette.com/blog/everest-2013-coverage/.  This is Everest season, the race to the summit is on as the weather breaks just enough to allow seasoned climbers to reach the highest peak in the world.  I've loved Everest for years, and its peculiar that I do since I have absolutely no skill or interest in climbing.  I like hiking ...the kind that needs no equipment.  I'm not interested is scaling rock, crossing wide open, yawning spaces by ladder, loaded down with gear.  But ...I absolutely love watching from afar, learning the strategies, reading the stories and learning more and more about the mountain itself and the people who climb.  Most people who find out I have this interest chuckle ...because it is so not me.
My family chuckles too about my peculiar curiosity in not only Everest, but whaling too, another industry from long ago that draws a deep curiosity.  But there is no real whaling season, except illegally, now, so I dabble here and there to learn or review some facts that peak my interest.  But Everest is an ongoing, evolving story that keeps me searching for more.  So I watch the teams as they make their way up, acclimating, then descending, resting for a few days only to go higher next time ....until, they are as sure as they can be that they are physically, mentally and emotionally ready to make their bid to the top ...as long as the weather cooperates and allows them to pass.
My oldest told me the other day how he's found himself over the years involved in discussions that either directly or indirectly involve Mt. Everest.  He's been stunned as he's rattled off facts  or offered clarification about the Khumbu Icefalls, the Lhotse Face, the different camps, the pace of acclimating ...  Laughing he tells me he has no recollection of me telling him all this, but its been such a part of my own study and interest, that its a part of him too.
I check in to see where each team is, I tell Owen about the one's seeming to lag behind, assure him they will be the most successful and why.  He asks questions in hushed tones, eyes wide as he looks at campsites on tiny rock peninsulas jutting into the sky, steep drops on either side.  He listens as I tell him how the ice groans and moans during the night, changing the climb.
I continue to scroll around, reading blog entries, exploring the changing dynamic as more and more teams become part of this short season.  My kids wander away, on to something else, but I feel her stay.  She never followed me around, she found her own way.  No hushed awe from Phoebe as I shared stories of what I knew, she challenged and found her own thoughts.  She would see different things than me, she'd watch for body posture, facial expressions, she'd read between the lines.  Not me, I'm a 'what you see is what you get' kind of girl.  Phoebe could see deeper.  I'd see the ladder crossing the ice falls, where she'd see the depth of blue ice, the danger, the excitement.  I'd cross quickly, she'd gaze long and deep, figure it out.  But she'd stay, interested, engaged, sharing this great love of mine.  She'd pick a different team that would make it first, tell me why and how.  She'd probably be right.
Last week a fight broke out between some Europeans and Sherpas.  It made the news. I'd heard it from a patients room, sent a text to my son to find out for me.  He shot a few facts back to me, said the conflict was over.  Phoebe would tell me its not over, its the beginning of another struggle, another clash of cultures, both an unraveling and a building of something different.  Funny how those conversations can go on in my head without her here.
But I find her just over my shoulder, interested like me, only climbing Everest might be something she'd actually do, prepare for.
I miss her, her mannerisms, her certainty, the way she thought ...who she is.  Brief little moments like this, shared moments maybe, without seeing or touching or feeling ...just moments of a sense of her lighten this heavy heart.
She's laughing as I chase the summit from my kitchen.  She's betting on a different team. And she's telling me not to bore people with my own interest.  "When their eyes start to glaze over Mom ...stop talking!"
I miss her ...