Robert and I are on a reading streak. The genre is non-fiction. Epic. Survival.
First, we read Endurance an account of Shackleton and his crew's Antarctic expedition and their struggle to live with nothing but floating, melting ice flows and fatty seals. Then we got in to Unbroken, the biography of Luis Zamperini, an Olympic athlete turned bombardier who survived a downed plane, weeks at open sea, and lived to tell about being a Japanese prisoner of war. I recently finished Miracle in the Andes, the first hand account of a Rugby team's story of survival and escape from an uninhabitable nightmare after their plane crashed in the Andes. That one was pretty dark on account of the cannibalism. Eeesh. And I just started The Lone Survivor. ...Pretty self-explanatory.
Talk about page turners.
It's been an experience. Each book was different, each challenge unique, each individual affected differently, but to me each book was the same experience.
First, I'm horrified at what people are put through.
Second, I'm blown away by the resiliency of the human body, mind, and soul.
Third, I wonder if my own body, mind and soul would survive (fill in the blank) hardship.
And lastly, I breathe a ginormous sigh of relief when (spoiler alert!) Shackleton reaches humanity, WWII ends, Parrado sees a man across the river, etc. It makes you wriggle down into your nice soft clean bed and love that your belly is full (of NOT your friends) and your fingers aren't frozen.
I have never been through something so traumatic but every year I experience that emotional sigh of relief. Every year I am sucked in to a dreary place, as are we all, where there seems to be no warmth, no sunlight, color, happiness, or hope for better. That place is called Winter. Now, I can't complain, this winter has been mild and, dare I say, magical thanks to a Christmas storm. But after marrying an Arizonian cyclist I see that winter holds next to no happiness (unless you have the time and money to enjoy winter sports. Ain't nobody got time for that.) and it's hard to see him suffer.
Last week Robert opened our front door and just stood for a while on our tiny front porch. He looked around, took a deep breath, let out that sigh of relief that says so much in so little breath, and with all the fervor of a lone survivor whispered,
"We did it."
Winter is over.
