One of the most precious things about living in Tucson, for us, is the Santa Catalina Mountains. The image below, by William Lesch, gets some of their grandeur across.
About half way into our hour-long drive to the trail-head, just as we are about to leave Tucson and begin climbing, the view of the mountain range is spectacular. The houses on the north side of the road slope slightly downward, and the Catalinas soar upward in all their craggy youthfulness.
On our most recent trip the view tripped a sensation in me that, while always present, is not oft mentioned. A prang went through me, and for a moment my mood turned somber – it saddened me to think that there is a finite number of times I’ll see those mountains in the warm Sonoran sunlight. There, speeding down the road on a bright spring day, my wife, our dogs and I, altogether like a single organism, were enjoying our communion with each other and delighting in the day’s adventure ahead. One big happy, fuzzy bubble with sixteen limbs, eight eyes, four noses, fur, skin and teeth.
As I said, it stung me to know that one day we would be no more, and the mountains would still be there. I … felt hungry, or gluttony, or something like that. A desire to always have that thing, those experiences with my family, commingling the loves for one another with our love for the place.
I spoke to Roxanne about that feeling, that sense of loss, or anticipation of loss, and how it struck me with … nostalgia (how absurd to feel nostalgic for something that is not gone!).
What she said to me then I won’t ever forget. It is something we all know, something we’ve all heard people tell each other, or admonished us to do. But what made it reach me, searing its sentiment into my heart, was the unassuming sincerity and automatic matter-of-factness of how she said it…
N: “You know, one day we will be gone, and the mountains will still be here. We won’t be able to enjoy them any more.”
R: “But we are here now, and can enjoy them today.”
And we did… and yes, if that were our last time ever, I would be satisfied, née, even grateful, for the joy felt and shared on those slopes.
