Day 187. I am filled with sadness. I just learned that my friend Tom was killed in the ambush of humanitarian workers in Afghanistan. Tom's identical twin brother, Tim, is married to my "oldest friend" (we affectionately call one another "wombmates") Dana.
The tragedy and the loss stands on its own. It is particularly poignant for me because Tom has been at the forefront of my thoughts since reading "Three Cups of Tea." I knew Tom had been working as a dentist in Afghanistan for the past decade, and when I finished the book I had planned to visit him in Durango to hear more about his work and experience in the country so many Americans despise. Tom has also been on my mind as I've meditated this year. He was truly a Bodhisattva - an Enlightened One who continues to walk the earth in the service of others. He will be missed on many continents.
I have two favorites memories of Tom. I spent a week with him, Tim and Dana, and Dana's friend Steve on a houseboat traveling up the slot canyons of Lake Powell. This was in the late 90's, before Lake Powell had dried up. We would take the houseboat as far up into one of the hundreds of tiny fingers of Lake Powell as we could go, anchor the boat, and take off on amazing hikes through magical landscapes in Utah and Arizona. Dana is more domestic, and frequently opted to stay with the boat. I was in hiking heaven any time I could be with Tim and Tom. As we headed out for our first trek together, The Brothers Grams (pet named by Dana) told me and Steve they had two rules by which we had to abide (or be abandoned in the desert). "What are they?" I asked, willing to comply with anything, including selling them my firstborn. "Shut Up and Keep Up," they replied in unison.
Sounds harsh, especially since they were absolutely serious. Fortunately, I was able to do both. To date, I have discovered only two things at which I possess extraordinary natural talent. One of them is climbing. Climbing anything. (Recall the toddler who cleared fences at lightening speed when she was 18 months old). I credit my Scottish heritage for this gift, imagining my ancestors clamoring around in the highlands of Scotland. My body absolutely knows how to do it. I am freakishly adept at sticking to rocks like Spider Man, and he had the added asset of sticky web stuff that shot out of his wrists. The Brothers Grams expected they would quickly leave me on the valley floor. I kept up.
From my City Girl Who Loves the Outdoors perspective, Tim and Tom knew everything about nature. They taught me the names of flowers and plants and insects and birds and animals. They could navigate any terrain and were breathtaking photographers. They could turn a houseboat around in a four foot wide creek, and paddle a canoe up a slot canyon no wider than three feet wall to wall. They knew about stars and weather patterns. They knew about wine and any dish involving fish. They fished and hunted and brought home fresh food for Dana to work her culinary magic upon. We spent over a week on that houseboat, camped out in some solitary canyon, feasting on salmon Tim had brought fresh from their home in Anchorage and gazing up at the billion brilliant stars winking in the desert sky. Tom had more zest for living than anyone I'd ever known. He loved life. He lived life. He celebrated it every day of his 51 years.
My other memory occurred in 2005 - the year my son was involved in a serious snow skiing accident. He was flown off the mountain at Wolf Creek before I could be contacted. Mediflight headed for the hospital at Durango. Before I lost cell phone coverage during my nightmare drive from Pagosa Springs to the hospital, I telephoned my mother to get in touch with Tom, who lived in Durango. I wanted someone to be at the hospital to tell them my son had a mother on the way, and that his name was not John Doe. Tom, whom I hadn't seen in person for five years, immediately went to the hospital to offer what he could. I didn't get to see Tom at the hospital because we immediately left for the airfield to board another MediJet to transfer my son to the trauma unit at Grand Junction. My son was in a coma and has no memory of the accident and several weeks after it. I remember everything. Especially Tom's willingness to show up for a child he had never even met.
Tom showed up for thousands of children none of us will ever meet. He sold his dental practice four years ago so that he could devote more time to his work in Afghanistan. I was really hoping to talk with him more about his travels. He had so much to teach me. He was the person I am trying to become. I will continue in my journey, perhaps with more zest to honor his memory and live the values he inspired. I assumed we had many more hikes in our future. Tom was a good man. I will miss him.
Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc
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