After the Avalanche: Digging Through Grief

Copyright © 2011 Lyn Ellen Hicks

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-2040-7 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2046-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-2047-6 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011933052

Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®,

Copyright© 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975

by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 8/24/2011

Contents

PREFACE

REMEMBERING CHARLIE

AERIAL VIEW

The Whole Picture

PART ONE

Unstable Snow

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS

CHAPTER TWO

THE CONNECTION

PART TWO

The Ground Shifts

CHAPTER THREE

POOL OF TEARS

PART THREE

Furious Descent

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BAD TIMES

CHAPTER FIVE

A JOURNEY

PART FOUR

Aftermath

CHAPTER SIX

WAITING

CHAPTER SEVEN

MORNING SICKNESS

PART FIVE

Breaking Through

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHICH WILL YOU CHOOSE?

CHAPTER NINE

JUST BIDING TIME

CHAPTER TEN

AN EXTRAORDINARY GIFT

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CLOSURE

CHAPTER TWELVE

PROVISION

PART SIX

The Rainbow

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SIGNS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SURVIVAL

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

GRIEF TOUCHING GRIEF

EPILOGUE

For Daddy, my very first and forever valentine,

who taught me how to live.

Kingdon Charles Hicks

July 2, 1925  -  May 5, 2011

PREFACE

avalanche—from Swiss of Old French origin meaning

to descend to the valley

a fitting description for everyone’s journey

through the valley of the shadow of death

into the most intense, the very lowest realm of

despair, loneliness and longing.

Permanent separation,

with or without warning,

comes crashing down in an overwhelming slide,

violently carrying all in its path into

Earth’s darkest pit,

Earth’s deepest valley—

Grief.

I am struck by the dichotomies of grief…

the universality of the grieving process for all,

yet each in the cocoon of silent certainty that no one has ever felt pain quite like this…

the anguish and longing of loneliness and missing what is lost,

while buoyed with hope, surrounded with comfort and obsessed with thoughts of what Heaven must be like…

the finality and brutality of loss,

while the reliving, rethinking, remembrance and senseless expectation seem an endless cycle…

Even when you know indisputable facts,

the truth of permanent absence never seems to stick.

Your brain seems to fail you,

your heart to constantly betray you,

your body to exist erratically,

your soul to experience its horrifyingly deepest doubt

and exhilaratingly greatest faith.

The avalanche that violently and instantaneously snatched my husband from my life on Tuesday, February 11, 1992, was only the awful beginning of an entire course through the unknown I could never have imagined, with all of the changes and contrasts which were to follow in its wake. The seed of hope, frozen in dormant anticipation, was much like the frozen shell of my husband. It was as if he did not die until hope died, when his body was found eighty-two days later, on Saturday, May 2, 1992.

I travel the road of adjustment, release and acceptance. I have found along that way so many small components identical to those experienced by my companion in loss, Becky, whose husband Tim was skiing with Charlie that day and died in the same avalanche. As I continue along this path, I find each piece of the process to be shared with so many others I encountered then and encounter still. There are so many reasons and ways to grieve in this fallen world. So many icy instruments of separation.

What I have in common with you is probably more encompassing than you may think.

When you are in grief, you are in isolation. But I found comfort in glimmers of common ground—solace in similarities—when I could identify with another’s experience. I want to share my thoughts and feelings with those who are hurting because I found such consolation in companionship with kindred wounded. This is my journey.

No matter your pain or its depth, nor the reason for your grief—you are not alone in the experience. The nuances and patterns will be as unique to you as you are to your Creator, but, in each separate fragment—someone understands. There is someone who knows. We walk, we run, we dance, we stumble, we crawl—sometimes we lie motionless—on this path of life. We have each other. We are survivors.

If you have known the anguish of having someone, or even something, you love ripped from your life; if you have journeyed, or journey still, through the misery of the unknown when someone precious is missing;

if you have found yourself forced to learn a new way of living after a life-changing catastrophe;

if you have been overwhelmed with seemingly unanswerable questions, watched the course of your life become so out of your own control, sobbed out your confusion and desperation or shouted your curses at a God Who seemed to be sleeping,

then you know what it is to live…

After the Avalanche…

You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. …Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy…. I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

John 16:20b; 22; 3

REMEMBERING CHARLIE

Charles David Prior

March 13, 1958 - February 11, 1992

Journal Entry Thursday, April 9, 1992 after midnight

Day 59

I love you, Charlie.

Thoughts about Charlie:

The Lord didn’t take him—He welcomed him.

He lived to be 33 years on earth, like Jesus.

Crammed about 70 years into nearly 34

Loved the challenge, the thrill, the adventures of life

Loved the Lord… Loved people…

Loved to explore, to learn, to experience, to excel, to achieve

Finished the race running (Covered the distance and…)

Knows what a black hole is.

Wouldn’t mind a bit being free from the pressure, the traffic,

the smog, the crime, the pollution, the corruption, the pettiness,

the decay, the struggles of life here.

He always gave life his all.

Life gave him rich experiences, loving family, many devoted

friends, the knowledge to accept his need for the Lord.

He was a scrapper, a calculated risk-taker (gambler), a sharp, thorough (meticulous), determined, fiercely loyal man—a lover, an encourager, a worker, faithful, there when you needed him, a helper who would lay down his life for a friend.

The first time I saw Charlie, I knew he was someone I needed to know. It was at a Christmas concert at Grace Community Church on December 17, 1981. My cousin Scott’s good friend, he arrived after we were already seated. As he squeezed past to the empty seat, I watched that tall, lanky stranger and felt the pull toward him.

After Christmas, on New Year’s Day of 1982, we had our first date. I remember raking leaves in the backyard while the Rose Parade moved across my television screen, nervous and filled with anticipation. That evening together marked the beginning of many years of days and evenings. Ours was not the idyllic, fairy tale courtship many revere, but a precious and passionate relationship, nonetheless. From the first, I was so strongly drawn to Charlie. He immediately became such an integral part of my life. Though I struggled for years (out of fear of loss) to assert my independence, I finally realized that I could not imagine my life without him. I think he had much the same experience, unfortunately after I did, because he grew weary of waiting after being committed to me for the first several years while I figured out that this man would not leave me. We both tried very hard not to need each other. At the beginning, and during much of the seven and a half years before we married, it seemed to both of us that we loved each other despite ourselves. On again, off again, we each explored and enjoyed other relationships before our final commitment to one another. Our road was never smooth and easy, but for every pothole over which we stumbled and ditch into which we plummeted, we became airbound over a hill or raced through an exhilarating stretch of Autobahn. The length and terrain of our dating years provided a topic of high speculation. At our wedding and reception, several comments regarding the duration and pattern of our courtship brought laughter—to others and to us.

When I first knew Charlie, he was an introverted 23-year-old student and athlete, hidden under a baseball cap.

…I remember stopping by to see him at his work with Clay Lacy Aviation, in his pre-professional pilot days as a lineman, and playfully lifting up the brim of his cap. I complained that I couldn’t see who was under there most of the time. After a shy smile and a blush, he once again disappeared under the brim….

As he rapidly progressed in his career, and grew in his commitment to and relationship with the Lord, his confidence and self-esteem also thrived. He emerged, unfurled his wings, and began to soar. Others commented how he came into his own—a true metamorphosis. I treasure that I loved him long before I loved the man he became. I’m so grateful that God enabled me to see with His eyes the real Charlie, and that God enabled Charlie to see in me the woman I hope to become. I am so grateful that God allowed me to share in so many years of Charlie’s life.

Always a sort of wild rebel, Charlie was, nevertheless, a gentleman of astounding charm. I teased him mercilessly about how women approached him to offer their phone numbers (he always denied that they did) even at gas stations. He had that sort of magnetism, in the way he spoke (though sometimes only a soft mumble) and carried himself. His walk had been compared to the unmistakable gait of John Wayne. He had a way with him that enabled him to have his way. Not by bullying nor intimidation, but by gentle persistence and considerable persuasion, he won over many a situation and heart.

…I remember him accompanying me to a department store to exchange a defective spray bottle of perfume. The salesgirl adamantly refused to help me in any way. Courteous but insistent, I appealed to her. She rather rudely suggested I wait until the department manager returned. When I asked her when that would be, she replied, Maybe an hour or two. Barely maintaining my polite veneer, I verged on tears of frustration. As she stomped off, Charlie, who had been vacantly eyeing cosmetics from a short distance away while eavesdropping, asked me to hand him the perfume bottle and please go shopping somewhere else for a little while. Doubting his ability to make any headway with the recalcitrant and imperious salesgirl, yet curious because he thought he could, I obliged, but stayed within visual range. I watched him approach her, watched his gentle and unassuming body language, heard the soothing drone of his persuasive voice. I have no idea what he actually said. I only saw that, after maybe a minute, she returned his smile and he returned to me with a brand new bottle of perfume.

As a child, Charlie had been uncomfortable in a gangly body that grew faster than his ability to keep up with it. His parents told me he had been a champion chess player, but he loved sports more. It just took him awhile to figure out how to use that physical frame well, and he worked very, very hard at it. He trained and shaped and molded and exerted that body to do amazing things. What he finally extracted from it—what he accomplished as an athlete—proved exemplary.

Charlie never forgot the time and effort required for him to excel. He never lost the humility born of working hard for each achievement.

…I cherish memories of his modesty. He became so frustrated with me because I bragged about him. In our singles’ Bible study, he rebuked me after I told some of the guys, who were considering taking him up on the offer to get together with their bicycles, what an extraordinary triathlete he was. I can still hear the dismay in his voice: They won’t want to ride with me now! And they didn’t. Many were put off by his habits of morning and evening workouts, flanking a full-time job and night classes. Most didn’t really want to join him for the 50-mile bike rides, 10-mile maintenance runs, or endless pool laps in masters classes. But he had good company when surfing, and Jeff and Cam were always up for ski trips, even though, when he skied with the McCoys (owners of the resort) at Mammoth Mountain, they joked that, try as they might, they couldn’t lose him. He enjoyed sharing his joy more than he wished to show off his talents. Though fiercely competitive, he derived his motivation from a primarily internal battle. The only person Charlie felt he needed to prove anything to was himself, and he provided himself with some pretty tough competition. His drive and determination moved him to excel in so many ways.

…I think of a perfect picture of Charlie’s attitude toward new experiences. He taught himself to ski in high school by riding the lift with others to the highest, most advanced point, ignoring his fears, and working his way down, falling again and again and again, but always getting up and starting over….

That same fierce drive reared its head in an ugly temper from time to time. That intimidating anger scared me more than once. But his passion ultimately shaped a man of intensity and purpose, in devotion, in emotion, in dedication. He increasingly showed the man who loved to laugh, to be with friends and family, to share beauty and exultation. Though wholeheartedly involved in life, he demonstrated acumen at quiet observation, assessment and discernment. In many ways, Charlie was like a sponge: always showering others with all he absorbed, while constantly taking in every available drop.

After those many tumultuous years of growing to know and understand each other, we, thankfully, grew in love together. Because he had to fly on Valentine’s Day, he proposed to me the night before, February 13, 1989, during dinner, while the pianist underscored at our local Chinese restaurant. When I expressed embarrassment as he started to get down on one knee, he drove me home and knelt before me there. We only took seven months to plan our wedding—one for each year it took us to be sure we wanted it!

At 7:30 the night of Saturday, September 9, 1989, we married in the wedding of my dreams, filled with rainbows, music, praise and laughter. Charlie was 31, I almost 33. We looked toward the promise of a long life together, not able to see beyond the curve in the road that stretched ahead. We vowed faithfulness, love and devotion, ‘Til death do us part. We entered into a different dimension of relationship, facing all the challenges, and enjoying all the blessings, of being husband and wife.

Thus began our 29 months as Mr. and Mrs. Charles David Prior.

AERIAL VIEW

The Whole Picture

For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.

II Corinthians 4: 17 - 18

OUR STORY

(THE FACTS)

He left, the morning of Tuesday, February 11, 1992, while it was still dark, and the rain was pounding down, after a kiss and a long hug. Newlyweds (not yet two and half years married), we both called out I love you!

He was to pick up our friend Tim Pines in his white Subaru wagon, and drive up for a day of snow skiing. They hadn’t positively chosen between the two nearest Southern California resorts.

They needed to be back early, by five, so that Tim could take care of his 3-month-old son, Joshua, while his wife Becky went to work as a collegiate volleyball coach. As a teaching assistant for an astronomy class at Saddleback College, Charlie, too, would return early enough to prepare for his class that evening.

Later in the morning, my parents (who also lived in San