[Trigger warning: loss/death of parent, grief.]
Yesterday I went for a long hike with one of my climbing buddies who’s also one of my closest friends. The hike itself was quite an adventure as we went high up in elevation and despite the recent hot-spell most of the mountain was still covered in snow so the trail was mostly invisible and we had to pick our way through the tress, over streams, constantly walking and falling through snow.
We spent the whole day together — just like we used to when we went climbing outdoors together on weekends — so that was really nice.
It was also nice that we could spend the day together yesterday specifically, adventuring together, on Father’s Day, given that we’ve both lost our fathers. We didn’t talk about that in particular yesterday, but we did talk about our dads a bit over dinner & beers — this buddy of mine is one of the few people with whom I really talk about my dad, mostly memories of him from when I was younger, as my friend does with me.
Before heading out on our hike, my buddy commented on my little mohawk that I just got saying that it suited me and that I reminded him of the “Lost Boys” in the movie “Hook”.
I don’t know why I made him think of one of those characters, really, but I do feel like a lost boy. Very much so. Although, technically speaking, I’m not a boy: I’m a 42-year-old adult…
But still, I do feel totally lost.
The Little Prince and the Fox 