Many years ago – long before I met Mary Elizabeth – I used to drive out west every summer and go camping in and around the mountains of Wyoming and Montana.  I remember the first time I went to Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains in 1986.  Simon, David and I – along with all our gear – were crammed into David’s parents’ Volkswagen rabbit and we had the idea to go camping in the backwoods of Yellowstone.  As we drove west across the wide flat basin of eastern Wyoming, we could see the dark line of the mountains on the horizon.

As we got closer, we saw snow-covered peaks up among the clouds, which nestled atop steep fir-covered slopes.  Our maps only said that it was national forest land, which meant that we could camp wherever we pleased.

So we drove up into the mountains, on a wildly switchbacking highway, while the poor rabbit struggled to move forward in the thin mountain air.  We finally reached the plateau-like top of the range and were surprised to find gentle meadows and lakes winding their way through the shoulders of the taller, snow-covered mountains.

We kept driving west until we decided to pull off onto a dirt road and look for a place to camp.  We had in fact gone through most of the mountains and were very close to the western edge of the range. After setting up camp in a meadow ringed by fir trees, we set out to explore our surroundings.

We soon came to the edge of the mountains and were stunned by the sweeping vistas and the sight of the mountains’ western flanks plunging down to the basin floor ten thousand feet below.  In the distance, we could see the dark line of the Rocky Mountains to the south,  the snow-covered spires of the Grand Tetons to the west and the Beartooth Mountains to the north.

What was amazing though, was the rushing wind sweeping across the basin and hitting the mountains.  We would later see many eagles and other birds soaring on these updrafts, but at the moment we were mainly concerned with staying upright among the weirdly shaped wind-eroded rock formations.  These mountain tops had been a seabed in a long ago millennium and we kicked our way through hundreds of fossilized seashells and other sea creatures.  It was a surreal experience for these three eastern seaboard born and bred city boys.

But back to that wind.  Standing there, facing west and the mountains, the strong warm wind seemed to blow through me and yet support me at the same time.  It was a mesmerizing, metaphysical almost baptismal experience as I stood there being washed clean by that mighty wind.

I’ve written a lot in the past year about acceptance and the difficulty I’ve had letting go of the old Mary Elizabeth and our life together.  I still get depressed about it sometimes, but as we approach the 2-year anniversary of Mary Elizabeth’s stroke, I’m starting to feel something new.

Eventually, I think that we have to stop just accepting the changes to our lives and start embracing them.  This of course means that we have to let go of our fear, bitterness and yes, anger and not only acquiesce to our new life, but make the best of it, and positively embrace it.

Now, this could just be semantics, because do we really have a choice?  Can we ever hope to recapture that pre-stroke life by pining for it? Of course not.  But it’s a little like forgiveness.  Whether or not you forgive somebody who’s hurt you can’t undo that hurt, but it does give you the freedom to move on.

So while we get comfortable with who we are, and who we’re becoming, I’m aware that perhaps it’s getting a little easier day by day, and like that long ago wind, it’s sweeping away the regret, despair and unhappiness bit by bit.