Up a Hill, Down a Mountain

The only way to love anything it to realize that it may be lost

My husband, Greg, and I just returned from an amazing trip out to Seattle. I tagged along with him on a work conference, and spent the days he was busy at the conference visiting my friends, Noel and Stan, on Camano Island. My husband and I plan our vacations around the conference schedule for the Society of Actuaries, and three years ago when we discovered the meeting would be in Seattle, I had no idea how much I would need this respite.

We extended our trip on both sides of the conference, so we began with an overnight visit on Camano Island together. The natural beauty of the Pacific Northwest is just so saturated. The rainforest climate provides the perfect conditions for life to flourish, and flourish it does - there is so much green! Moss and coniferous trees, wildlife (we saw elephant seals!), the beautiful fall colors, and oh - the mountains - provided an awe-inspiring backdrop for great friendship, shared meals, and conversation.

In this environment, it didn’t take long for a deep sense of peace to melt over us. We are managing so much with six children still at home, including our Steph, who has some complicated needs to manage. To be honest, though, it’s sometimes the older ones who occupy our mental space even more. Little kids, little problems; big kids, big problems.

On the other end of the country from our home, I found the space to relax and just enjoy some leisure. The beautiful Landscapes and thoughtful hospitality of our hosts made the transition to true relaxation seamless.

When Greg’s conference began, I went up for daily visits to my friend, and was able to explore even more of the island. Whoever says that the path to women’s liberation is through paid employment quite possibly might not have considered all the relevant factors. Full of gratitude for his sacrifice, I felt truly blessed to be soaking in the scenic vistas as he was immersed in the presentations and numbers.

Now it seems that if I were truly looking for a break, I would enjoy those vistas from the comfort of Noel’s home, soaking in the beautiful view from her living room, drinking a cappuccino without a care in the world. But there’s something about the way I’m wired that doesn’t make that attractive or possible. I’ve found the only type of relaxation I truly enjoy is apparently the kind that leaves me questioning my life’s choices and exhausted at the end of the day.

On our last day together, I asked Noel to recommend a hike with a beautiful view. We hopped in the car and headed out to Wallace Falls State Park. In the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, the trail we chose offered scenic vistas, and a little under 6 miles of hiking.

The hike started out reasonably enough, after all, I’m used to the hilly trails in Maryland, so the over 1400 feet of elevation didn’t scare me, although in retrospect, maybe it should have. On the way up, I was impressed by the gently sloping railroad grade trail. It was a long hike, and I could feel the elevation. I definitely noticed the last 25 pounds of weight I’d love to lose. In the back of my mind, I recalled the challenge on the joints of the downhill - in my experience it can be much harder to hike downhill than up. Even as I was enjoying the beautiful scenery, and the invigorating workout, I knew that pain could very well be around the corner.

While I was continuing to become more and more tired, my friend Noel seemed to become more and more animated. She pointed out that we were most certainly in the foothills, and not the Cascade Mountains. I wanted to argue with her, but my vocalizations were rapidly devolving into something more like grunts than words… My understanding was that 1000 ft makes a mountain, and this certainly felt like a mountain. Noel chattered on - mentioning the story about the man who went up a hill and came down a mountain. In this story, he surveyed a hill, and it didn’t quite make the cut, so he and the community rallied together and added rocks to the top of the hill to make it qualify as an official mountain. Mountain, or no, this “hill” felt like a mountain to me.

My spry companion…

Along the way, Noel and I talked about everything and nothing - the interesting moss, our kids, our favorite books and authors. We walked in silence too, enjoying the stillness and the sound of our feet crunching the leaves as we made our way higher. The canopy of the trees made a sort of cathedral ceiling, and it was easy to feel connection with the Creator who had fashioned this exquisite setting.

I was really feeling the strain of the first 900 feet or so of elevation when I spied the sign reading “Strenuous” and depicting a much healthier hiker than me with poles I did not have. According to the foreboding sign, there would be 600 more feet of elevation over just 3/4 of a mile. If I did the math correctly, that’s a 15% grade. On legs that are already tired. A wiser woman would have probably turned back - but I am not that woman.

The two of us, before things really got serious

I’ve never been one to run away from a challenge, and certainly don’t want to be the first to quit. I’ve noticed this quality mainly in my vocation as a mother. I’ve nursed children through broken bones, myriad illnesses, and even chemotherapy. I’ve taken in my cousin’s baby as a foster mom, and fought tooth and nail to get him the medical care and connections he needed. I’ve been through labor (nine times!) I wasn’t going to let this hill defeat me.

And it didn’t. We made it to the top of the hill - the view was fine, but definitely not worth the extra effort to make the last bit of the trail. I was exhausted, and the rest of the trail and the punishment of the decline on my joints awaited. But I did it. And there was no way back to the car but on my own power.

At this point, I’m pretty sure Noel was afraid she might have to drag me to the car.

Thanks to gravity, the downhill was quicker, but, as predicted, more painful. About halfway down the hill, my phone rang. Really? Shocked that I had service, I checked to make sure it wasn’t one of my children with an emergency. I pulled out my phone and to my surprise, my cousin and the mother of my former foster son was on the phone. I hadn’t spoken to her in five years, and now I get a call in the middle of this challenging descent? The timing was wild, and it felt providential. Removed from my normal life, I had some mental space to have this conversation. God’s timing is not our own, but it is always perfect.

Eight years ago, she showed up at my home with very short notice at 3 AM on the feast of St. Vincent de Paul. After I got her and her son asleep in the spare bedroom, I headed over to Mass, wondering at what would lay ahead and the strange turn my life had taken. My cousin was in rough shape, but her son’s condition was even rougher. The next two and a half years were filled with court hearings, social workers, doctor visits, and all manner of therapy.

Things had ended badly the last time my cousin and I spoke. I was, according to all involved, an awful foster mom, because I loved him so much and I wanted to keep him. I desperately wanted to give him the type of life my husband and I could provide. Good foster parents are supposed to support reunification with parents at all times. Unfortunately, I was not able to do that, and in the process, I was cut out of his life.

You see, my poor cousin has had so many difficulties in life, and I knew it would be hard for her to care for herself, let alone this very dependent child. The Department of Family Services lacked the resources to give her the tools and support she needed to be able to care for him. After we lost him in April of 2020, he went back to mom, and six months later he was back in foster care. Mom was (understandably) mad at me, and refused to let the case worker talk to me about him or to have any contact. The rift and pain were very deep.

It is hard to be a mother to many children, but even harder to lose one. I have been desperate to hear how my little lost one is doing, so after a quick apology to my hiking companion, I took the call. Grief flooded in as I heard my cousin’s voice. We all need family, and she has been truly alone. I apologized for hurting her - the first time I’ve been able to do so. Tears came as I sat in the reality of the brokenness of the entire situation.

My cousin has been trying to the best of her ability to parent her son. She bought a home just 4 miles from his foster home, and has a good relationship with this foster mom. She sees him as often as she can. She’s having some serious health issues, and the house needs some work. But she is trying.

Our phone call ended with a promise to keep in touch. I hope and pray that we do - that we can build a new relationship, and love that boy together. Childhood memories of good times have been overshadowed by the pain of the conflict and brokenness of not only ourselves, but an entire system which lacks the capacity to heal these situations. God alone can provide hope for this situation, and we all need a miracle.

After sitting on the bench to take the phone call, my muscles had stiffened up. We missed the railroad grade trail we had taken up the hill, and were now headed down a much steeper, but shorter wooded trail. I might have agreed with my friend that this was a hill on the way up, but it was definitely a mountain on the way down.

The rest of the hike was difficult, as predicted. The pain of the descent did not erase the beauty of the hike, but the suffering imbued it with meaning. This bodily suffering was a small price to pay for the ability to move my body and see these beautiful sights, and I was grateful for the ability to stick with the task. All the pain and hurt and loss associated with losing my foster son is worth it too. Real love has a price, and that price includes suffering.

I’m filled with gratitude for the challenges in my life as a mother. The time we had with my foster son was a gift to our family, and a blessing in our lives. I get the sense that I am still in the middle of the trail, that there are more challenges to come. God grant me the grace to persevere, the wisdom to discern correctly, eyes to see the beauty, and a heart to love.