365 Days to Zion

A year ago today I knew that I would be traveling to Zion.

Even though I always talked about wanting to visit Zion National Park in Utah, it was a place that Cindy had no intention of ever stepping into. But, at that moment, after the doctor turned off the respirator of my partner of almost eight years, the vast solitude and quiet that Zion offered seemed the perfect choice for me.


But, I was not ready to go there in the weeks right after Cindy died. Instead, I chose Joshua Tree National Park where I would be welcomed by thousands of outstretched arms ready to take me in and show me how to survive. As far as role models go, the Joshua Trees were quite successful. After all, they endure not just one year, but year after year of the most challenging and cruel conditions. Not only that, those trees have to remain standing amongst those that have fallen. What struck me most was how even the departed could help facilitate life among those still living. The lessons I learned in Joshua Tree carried me into the year, and eventually into Zion.


I often walked alone in Zion and I knew that’s just how it would be. Cars are not allowed deep into the park, the tourist season drops off, and the only sound you hear is that of your own breathing getting heavier as you hike into the higher altitude. When you walk around Zion, and especially when you hike into its neighbor park, Bryce Canyon, you feel like a dwarf amongst giants. Those rock formations, evolving for the past 150 million years, tower over you, close in on you, and render you speechless.


We often wonder what it takes to move mountains. In Zion, one of the biggest forces of nature is water. The power of that fluid in association with gravity, centrifugal acceleration, and electromagnetism create some of the most colorful, soaring, and imposing rock formations found in the United States. I wondered about the amazing geologic magic tricks these rocks must have seen over the years and how lucky I was to be able to witness the effects of this geology with my own eyes.


Being a mere 35-year old walking in and out of formations that are still kicking millions of years later make you feel significantly insignificant. After all, my time in Zion was so minuscule compared to how long many of the rocks, plants, and spirits have been there. I am not even a blip on the Zion radar. However, no matter what, I did step into Zion. My footprint is there. It’s like my buddy Ron Franz told me, “I came to Zion to be a part of eternity.”


Throughout this year, I’ve tried to share so many memories of Cindy. Those who know me well know that I have the worst memory. Because of this, I’ve been so fearful of forgetting things about Cindy. This blog has been my outlet for committing those memories to some semi-permanent space. When I cleared my things out of our house, the first items I grabbed were my journals, my photographs, and my videotapes of Cindy. But, the fear of forgetting, not just by me, but also by others terrified me. I remember recently I asked someone if they still thought about Cindy everyday and that when that person said no I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach.

I know I am not alone in this. Our friends who have children, particularly babies, often shared with me the sadness they felt thinking about their kids growing up and not recalling this affectionate, sweet, playful Filipina that their children called “Tita” and who showered them with baby clothes, toys, and kisses. Cindy loved these children unconditionally, so I can’t help but feel disappointed that they may eventually forget her. Something about that just doesn’t seem right.

Since Cindy died, I’ve had this urgent desire to memorialize her. I had a running shirt made with her picture on it. I created bumper magnets with her face on it for my scooter. I developed this blog. I posted pictures of her on my Facebook. I tried to not go a day without mentioning her name in conversation. Similar to my Ron Franz who created a Web site to post his wife’s music, I have done all of this in an effort to give Cindy an immortality.

For the past 365 days, I have been racing against the clock of forgetting and believing that immortality is the answer. But, what I learned in Zion is that all of that is inconsequential. Things in life change, they evolve, they come, and they even go. The absence in our individual lives is inevitable. At some point, something will change, someone may change, you may change and that is the nature of things.

For example, the formations in Zion used to be under water. But, slowly over time they lifted up to 10,000 feet higher. Another example, in Bryce Canyon, the “hoodoos” are actually believed to have once been joined together in arched formations before the effects of erosion rendered them separate.

It’s no wonder that when hiking in Bryce, I felt a discord. While the silence and isolation of Bryce inflicted me with intense feelings of loneliness, I felt a kinship with my fellow widowed hoodoos in the canyon. I took comfort in knowing that we have all experienced the inevitability of separation. And we are still standing.


Cindy is no longer here. But, I am here. You are here. Your children are here. Does that make up for her absence? Hell, no. Will she be forgotten? Not today. Not even tomorrow. We’ll still talk about her as long as our memories are here. But, 100 years from now, will people still talk about Cindy? Maybe? I don’t know. But, should that matter to me? No, because I won’t be here in a 100 years. I am here now. Today, I will find peace in remembering Cindy and celebrating Cindy. For the forseeable future, I will laugh at the stories of Cindy and her schemes. I will smile at the images of her holding her friend’s children. And it will feel bittersweet, witnessing for Cindy, the triumphs of her best friends.

We should keep Cindy with us as long as we need her. I will need her for a long time. You may need her for a long time too. And some may only need to call up her memory when the moment is right. But, do we need immortality? Probably not. On the road to Zion, I took in every sight, sound, and smell that I needed at that moment. And I will draw upon those memories when I need Zion to help me through the day.

Cindy led me to Zion. Cindy led me out of Zion. And she will continue to lead me as long as I need her.