The more I share my story, the more I want to share my story. Why is it when you tell someone died, the majority of people lower their eyes, muttering, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."
Death. It happens to everyone. No one is immune. Every single person that you love is eventually going to die. So why is it such a taboo subject? Why do most people not want to talk about it or acknowledge it?
During the first steps of grief I sought comfort through reading. I thought just maybe someone was bold enough to talk about the subject head on. That someone made sense of it all and I could relate to that and hold onto the notion that I too would make it through. But the more I read, the more I couldn't relate. Time slowly ticked by.
Ryan didn't die from terminal illness. He didn't die of old age. He died living his passion. He died doing the thing he loved most. May we all be that lucky.
The closest I've come to finding something I can relate to is fiction. But I'm not making this story up. Ryan existed as did his love for rock climbing and above all, living life.
So rather than having a bench made and placed in the soggy Northwest forest, which although is a nice gesture, is something that doesn't feel right, I'm going to tell you a story. His story, our story and the amazing life lessons I've encountered along the way. It's what keeps me writing a fuels the fire in my belly to strong to ignore. We can all be the master of our destiny and choose the life we want to live.