Mountain Baldy

My husband is a skier. Well that is actually an understatement. He lives the other six months of the year for the sweet snow months.

Small yet boasting mostly double black diamond runs, Mt. Baldy is my his favorite ski area 40 minutes outside of LA. It is a skier’s dream location.

 As a toddler and yearning to please her father, our sweet daughter would ask her father to go “squeeing” at Mountain Baldy. It was endearing. Yet, I would wince every time our family would speak of this winter wonderland. I had a secret that lay at the foot of this mountain.

Junior year of high school and I was grocery shopping every day after school by choice. The VONS box boy. He was blonde and tall and drove a Karmenn Ghia.

We chatted quite a bit and I thought there was chemistry. But I realize now after many customer service positions later. He was that way with everyone.

Using the now ancient technology of a home phone, I called to ask him to my high school’s winter formal. The memories are murky now but there was a “no” involved or maybe a “yes” then a “no”. But it crushed me.

One day shortly after this incident (maybe even the next day) early in the morning I got up and wrote several good bye notes. Put my McDonald's uniform on pretending to go to work. And through tears and resolution drove my car up the road to the greatest ski area on earth but not to ski.

As I drove, I do not remember thinking much of anything other than I wasn’t worth the air I breathed. I would never become anything.  I was cursed. It still isn’t clear in my mind why other than I just knew this was the answer.

I looked over the railing of every turn and found a good spot. I backed up. I hit the gas hard. I drove over the cliff. Then I was scared.

My stomach dropped worse than any roller coaster ride. I cried out “Help!”

The car slammed as it landed. I hit the steering wheel and windshield. The car teetered to an abrupt stop. Now what do I do? I am on the side of the hill. Now I am nuts. Now I am screwed! I’ve ruined my car. My parents are going to know. I cannot lie here. It’s clear what I’ve tried to do….

Off duty paramedics came to my rescue. It was all a blur. My parents, getting up the hill, seeing my car… The totality of it all was overwhelming!

Later, in the psychiatric hospital, I received a letter from the paramedic’s wife. She too had tried to end her life. She wrote that she had found the Lord. Her life had been redeemed. It helped to hear the words but I reasoned it was good for her but I was past saving grace.

Yet, in hindsight, because isn’t hindsight a beautiful gift, it was an opening to hear that faith is the only way through any of this thing we call life.

I think of this woman often and her kindness to write. Since her note is long since gone, I, too, write others. These small gestures tell how He walks us through. It is only the shadow of death. He raises us up. Hopefully it is Mountain Baldy for it is beautiful there!