I got some bad news this afternoon – one of my aunts passed away yesterday. She was the second wife of my dad’s brother – a brother that he hasn’t gotten along with in a long time. As a consequence, I didn’t see her much or interact with her much even when I did see her over the years.
There was one time, though, that I was visiting my grandparents for a summer during college and my aunt and uncle invited me on a rock climbing trip. They were both avid climbers and this was a new thing for me – but I went along and had a lot of fun. I remember approaching one site, getting geared up, and using my long reach and flexibility to climb it like I was going up a ladder. Actually better than a ladder – I was so focused on the hand and foot holds that I didn’t pay much attention to my fear of heights. Though I did freak out a little at the top I still impressed myself. My aunt was a little less enthused, I think. She was quite a bit shorter than me and could not have taken the route as easily as I did – if at all. Her British upbringing kicked in and she shouted up to me, “You’re like a bloody spider monkey!”
I think I did impress her when – too scared to rappel back down – I “down-climbed” off the rock and she laughed when I lay face-down in the dirt in relief.
We had a fun day and afterwards I keep seeing vertical surfaces and instinctively looked for hand and foot holds.
My aunt’s heath began to deteriorate a while after that trip and while she was able to climb a few times, it wasn’t something she could do frequently.
I wish I’d had a chance to get to know her better. I’m glad she’s not in any pain anymore and I wish I’d gotten a chance to climb with her again.
