One of the joys of renting a home is unpredictability. A year ago the owners of our rental divorced. We initially feared liquidation, but they reassured us things would continue as usual. The husband gained custody and decided to use our back room as an office for his internet music business. His business partner worked on cleaning up the room and we removed the few things we were storing there. I should explain that we rent the downstairs of an older home. There is a mother-in-law apartment upstairs which is also rented. A paper thin door with a connector room adjoins the laundry room which is next to the stairs to the apartment. For the last two months there has been a stranger in the next room every day until 7pm. As we eat dinner and spend time together in the evening, he can hear our every word. I have an irrational fear that one day I will open up the door to find a dozen people in movie theater style seats eating popcorn and eavesdropping.
There would have been little personal interest until a few months ago. Life was falling into place- I was days from completing the most important test of my life and Ryland was almost potty trained. The rain had come again, and Adam was out kayaking.
I heard the shrill beep of my pager as I walked to my office. “Husband on line- emergency” Shit. Adam’s voice was like a stranger. “Alan is missing and presumed dead. I need his girlfriend’s phone number.” I immediately had the impression that this was no time for questions so I asked if he was alright and found the information he requested. I told him I would pick Ryland up and he could do what he needed.
As I tried to finish the afternoon’s work, I realized how dire the situation was. Adam worked the night prior and did not sleep before going to the river. He was with Alan and one other friend, a good natured and green twentysomething. Adam was the trip leader.
Late that night, the details of the event were recounted between drunken sobs. In the coming days I sought to figure out what it meant. I first witnessed the world of kayaking 10 years ago. I came to understand the camaraderie and flow state in the water. I have seen the pain of loss and gone to funerals of those forever frozen in youth. There is a duplicity between the glory of conquering fear and the mortality of a pin with no exit. It was not until Alan died that I realized how close these were. He was a very capable kayaker paddling within his skill set. If the day went a different way, I could have easily gotten another call.
I love my husband as he is, a kayaker. But when people remark that a kayaker “died doing what they loved” it is difficult to swallow. There is nothing romantic or glorious about death. Losing a family member in their prime is unredeemable and unforgettable. Whitewater remains an unforgiving mistress but the call of the siren is inexplicable. I remain hopeful that when the call is silent, my kayaker will return home.
