1A Grizzly Conferment
Once again, I woke up shirtless and shivering on a plastic-covered love seat in the garage. It was early May 2012, and overnight temperatures were still only in the upper twenties. The night before, I had washed down a near-lethal combination of antidepressants and cheap vodka, trying to outrun the torment. When the vodka palsy kicked in and the garage began to spin, I took my shirt off and passed out face-first. I welcomed the oblivion: anything to help me forget that our little girl went to my mother’s house a healthy toddler and came home in an urn.
Like so many of these mornings over the past two years, as soon as I opened my bloodshot eyes, I was overcome with dread. My core body temperature was dangerously low, and I had another vicious hangover to complement my guilt. As awakenings went, it was even worse than usual, exacerbated by a dream I didn’t want to leave. I was in Marley’s room, rocking her back to sleep. The faint moonlight edged through the window, illuminating the corners while she wrapped her little body around mine. Her gentle crying subsided into slow, deep breaths. I could smell her. I breathed her in. Her death didn’t really happen. It was only a slow, torturous dream. My relief was a living thing. Palpable and boundless. Then I began to shiver: I was waking up, realizing that holding her again—soothing her—was the dream. My life the nightmare.
I heard the school bus leave, so I knew Stacey and her girls—my stepdaughters, Chloe and Mazzy—were gone for the day. I had done this so many times, I doubted that Stacey even looked for me before leaving. I could now shamelessly go inside the house to privately attend to my sour stomach, frowsy bowels, and rancid mood. The dogs didn’t even acknowledge my presence as I stepped inside. Was I already a ghost?
Opening the refrigerator, I spied five beers left in a six-pack purchased by someone with more restraint than I had. I contemplated them, then chose an apple juice, which I immediately threw up. In the bathroom, gagging over the toilet, I eyed my prescription bottles on the counter. What was I doing to myself and my family? I reached into my pocket for the same pitiful suicide note I’d written dozens of times in case I actually did overdose. But this time, instead of throwing it in the trash, I read it. Dry heaving there on the bathroom floor, a sinking feeling pinned me down as I read the drunken scrawls of a very sad man.
I had to get out. I had to get out now. Outside of this house. Outside of myself. Away from the pills and booze. Away from the looping hell inside my head. I had to do something—whatever that was. I was sick of the crumpled suicide notes in the trash, of my wife and surviving daughters watching me slowly kill myself. It was a day for movement. I would embrace nature and see where it led me. I didn’t know exactly where I was going, except it was away from here.
I dressed hastily and raced out the front door. My eyes nearly closed as I was pelted with heavy raindrops. Pulling on a hat, I noticed the menacing black cloud that hung over the high bridge toward Blacktail Plateau. I climbed in my truck and headed toward the steam coming off the travertine terraces in Upper Mammoth and Yellowstone National Park headquarters. After passing the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, I stopped at a crosswalk to let a group of tourists pass. Smiling, they hurried across the road. Even in the cold rain, they seemed happy to be in Yellowstone. Meanwhile, my head pounded, and I grimaced at life.
As much as Yellowstone and the new friends I was making were steering me toward a brighter future, dark clouds continued to roll in behind the blue skies. If something was beautiful, it reminded me of Marley. If something was sad, it reminded me of Marley. If there was a baby in a store, it reminded me of Marley. If there was a lavender sunrise, it reminded me there would be no more sunrises with Marley. Everywhere I turned and everything I experienced reminded me of losing Marley. I couldn’t escape the pain. I didn’t even want to escape it. Pain was all I had left of her. Hurting was better than forgetting.
I passed the upper terraces above Mammoth Hot Springs, driving on toward Norris Geyser Basin. The Mammoth–Norris road had only been open for a few weeks since the seasonal winter closure, so this would be mostly new terrain for me. As the road climbed south out of Mammoth Hot Springs, the long uphill straightaway quickly gave way to a series of hairpin turns that intersected a giant boulder field called the Hoodoos. If the upper terraces of Mammoth looked like the surface of another planet, the Hoodoos looked like that planet exploded. My already-queasy stomach spasmed in the curves, and when I glanced down the drop-off to my left, I began to wonder if there was a bathroom close by.
The higher I drove up the winding road, the harder it began to rain, and the sky became a dark slate gray. It looked like the canyon up ahead was socked in with a thick fog as cars coming from that direction had their headlights on and windshield wipers going full blast. I was feeling more nauseated with every curve, and by the time I hit the canyon, I was regretting this drive. I could feel my blood pressure rising and blood sugar dropping because of the previous night’s binge. The combination produced a dizzying, disoriented effect with painful stomach cramps. Upon entering the canyon, I felt like I might need to pull over and pass out.
A cataclysmic, volcanic eruption had formed the Golden Gate of Yellowstone. When the superheated ash and pumice cooled, it formed a welded tuff of multicolored “golden” rocks. Driving up this treacherous stretch of road, now completely absorbed in a soupy fog with a pounding rain turning to what sounded like hail on the roof of my truck, I felt like something cataclysmic was about to happen right then.
Copyright © 2023 by Brad Orsted
