Sometimes it feels like all the sadness is compressed into one tiny instant. One space. Even your tears can’t fit. Only nausea, shock; a squeezing choking feeling that starts in your stomach and moves its way up. It’s been 5 years since Asher passed, and yet the shocking, choking feeling can still hit. It’s less often now than it used to be, but it’s still there. I still miss him, feel the emptiness he filled with laughter, hugs, and reeses. Brownie sundaes at the avalanche, pizza at the Stash, Ben and Jerry’s, Dr. Pepper; such a sweet tooth for such a sweet, wonderful boy. It’s been a long 5 years without you, realizing dreams, and still searching for others. But one thing is for sure, I wouldn’t be a professional skier if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t have joined the ski team if you hadn’t begged me, chairlift ride after chairlift ride, or watched Session 1242 day after day in 2004. I wouldn’t have dreamed that big, or laughed and cried so hard over one silly, life changing sport.
Today started off sad. It isn’t the anniversary of his accident yet, but it is lingering and my body remembers it, grieves it. It’s subconcious really, which is silly, because it’s a date on a calender, but my mind still seems to know when it’s coming even when I forget to look at the calender. I went to the gym and finished a lackluster recovery workout, even though I’d rather nurse my sadness in chocolate and Harry Potter. I came back to work, checked my email, and another accident has happened.
This time it’s Sarah. She is revolutionary in this sport, and although we are not close; she has been nothing but kind and supportive the times our paths have crossed. You’re in my prayers Sarah.
There has been too many accident in too few years. How many friends must we all loose before we take a step back? Is it a question of stepping back? For many injured professional skiers, the accidents happen in “safe” environments, during practiced tricks, skiing within their comfort zone. Does that make the life of a professional skier simply one of numbers? Sheer luck? How calculated can our risks be?