The Final Entry

Dear dear Friends,

I went to Alaska with the intention of healing but found something quite different. I found direction. I gained a sense of where my life could and should be headed. This sense is not fully developed yet, but with time it will grow strong and I will find which path to travel by. This will be my final CaringBridge entry; it is time for me to move beyond the shielding arms of this website.

I always set out with a specific intention on my travels, but find that I rarely accomplish exactly what I plan. Instead, I find new realizations that effectively change and manage my life. I am still not sure what healing is or means, but I am ready now to move forward. I must begin the long journey to discover once again who I am, and who I want to be. I am up for this challenge.

My time in Alaska was extraordinary. During the week by myself in Fairbanks, it rained every day almost all day. It was a chilly 40 degrees at night and not much warmer than 50 degrees (Fahrenheit) during the day. This was all fine though, as I spent much of my time building a yard game, as well as getting to know many of Jamison’s friends—I’ve made some great new friends in Alaska with whom I plan to stay in touch. In such a short time, Fairbanks has become like a second home. It was difficult coming back to Minneapolis.

I left Fairbanks for Anchorage to pick up Jamison and two old Wisconsin friends from our diving days. It was a fine drive, but hazy and wet the whole way. After meeting them at the airport, we went to a gas station downtown. The four of us gabbing away, a big momma moose and her two babies silently crossed between our conversation, unnoticed until they passed our field of view. We all froze, excited, until the wise recommendation came to get back into our cars. This was the first of many animal sightings down south.

The next day the four of us rose to the invigorating challenge of whitewater rafting. The rafting included three progressively more difficult canyons or rapids. We began by demonstrating our swimming propensities by diving into the freezing quick-moving water and swimming to the boats across the river. The four of us, one other man, and the guide made up our boat as we headed downstream, anxious and excited. It was a wonderful ride, and we only lost (but then recovered) the stranger in our boat who fell out on the first rapid. Luckily he was able to grasp onto the rope wrapped around the boat and we were able to quickly get him back onboard. We couldn’t have asked for a more scenic and exhilarating adventure.

We then headed to Seward and once again rented sea kayaks, this time for three days. We mapped out our camping strategy and began to cross the bay, heading toward open waters to find our destination. We quickly discovered that the sea this day was a bit irritable, and with boats heavily laden with gear, our stability less than favorable. There were some scary moments, but after five hours of paddling (and a slightly compromised destination), we turned a corner to find perhaps the most beautiful sight of the trip. The bay was nestled in by tall mountains on all sides which housed three different glaciers. The sun was at its “setting angle” and cast shadows mystically throughout the bay. Glacial blue reflected along the mountain faces, the water sparkled calmly, and our three boats swayed in awe of what we had stumbled upon. The bay paraded three or four long beach areas with glacial streams that ran into the sea. I was stopped cold and lingered for what seemed an hour, thinking of Kelly, tears down my cheeks, an inspired heart heavy with sadness. All I could think was that Kelly didn’t want to die.

We made our way to shore and quickly got to work setting up camp. I was especially excited to build a fire and taste some filtered glacial water—the best water on Earth. It was the most beautiful and charismatic camp site I have ever experienced. Next to our tents and adding character was a 1940s or 50s long-forsaken truck that rusted out and was partially buried in the sand. The hood was open and the engine still intact, only now turned the same rust-red color of the truck’s body. One could only imagine what secrets lay behind its buried parts.

We explored the next day around the bay, but were also quite happy to just get back to the campsite to bask in the beauty and in the sun, which had been plentiful since leaving Fairbanks. I began a hike from just behind our site, believing the path, a boulder wash coming down from the mountain—the area that all the water would wash down in the event of a flood—would only lead me a short distance. Bear spray in hand, I quickly discovered that I could lose myself well beyond my intended destination. I continued hiking and as I climbed the mountain, the stream that I followed had suddenly grown to a raging river. I maneuvered all the way to the glacial source of the river. I had strong ambitions to get up to and touch the glacier, but too many hazards tempered that ambition. Large rocks fell and shattered into pieces just above where I hoped to stand. I was not ready for a boulder shower just yet. And because I arrived at a point where the river gushed from beneath a snow shelf, I would have had to climb the snow shelf and cross the rushing river that flowed beneath. It was time to turn back. It was also time for dinner. It was a magical place and will be in my heart forever.

We left our bay the next day to return to the outfitter. Our route began with a search for an old WWII fort on the other side of the bay. Sea kayaking can tire the spirit though, because you fight for hours against wind, waves, and current, all the while eyeing your destination, which barely moves closer. But we succeeded to cross the bay, traveling against the current, away from home, to reach the point where the alleged fort was held. In our quest, however, we inadvertently crossed the “Do not cross point” and quickly realized why that forbidden zone is deemed forbidden. We didn’t linger long. It was scary. We were fortunate, however, because of this sub-adventure, to see some Puffin. Cute little birds!

Homeward bound once again, we sojourned at a beach for lunch and a bathroom break. It was here that we caught sight of the animal I hoped most to see—a bear. He casually crossed the path and paid no attention to us. We were able to see him (and even track him a bit) for several minutes. He was no grizzly—just a not-so-intimidating little black bear, but still an incredible sighting for me. On our way back in, we were also accompanied by sea otter.

That evening we drove to Homer for our final adventure. Homer is “a quaint drinking town with a fishing problem.” (Homer’s motto.) Here we went Halibut fishing, which was quite fun. Each of the 18 people on board the boat was allowed to keep two Halibut that they themselves caught. My personal Homer fishing problem resulted in a flash-frozen shipment of 18 Ibs. of prized Halibut back to the lower 48!

And that was it. I had two more days in Fairbanks to say my goodbyes and get in another couple games of Horseshoes and Shuffleboard. The drive back was nice but long. The sky was so clear, as clear as it’s ever been the whole summer, permitting us to see the exquisite summit of Denali as if it were a postcard. And as we approached Fairbanks again, I felt like I was returning home. The sparseness of that large open country fosters a peace in me that cannot be rivaled in any big city. I truly feel that I have a home in Fairbanks.

I set out for healing and found direction. I acquired a peace that, though tested in the bustle of St. Paul, I hope to hang onto. The future is open and unwritten, and I will blaze a path for myself in time.

In Alaska, I realized that I have been focusing lately on Kelly’s death—a turmoil I felt as I kept coming back to the idea that Kelly did not want to die. She fought and fought and did not want to die. These thoughts would find their way into my mind and heart with each beautiful sight, each time I went to hold her hand but couldn’t, each time I wanted to say, Kelly, I love you, now paddle paddle paddle! Each time I thought my single kayak should be a double, and each time the world’s beauty was too much, I would think, Kelly did not want to die. And I would cry.

I also realized that this is not a productive way to think, to feel. I’m working now at refocusing on Kelly’s full and incredible life, and I’ve realized that it is not so much that Kelly didn’t want to die, but more that I didn’t want her to leave me. I didn’t want to be alone. But I am alone. And I am alive. And as a friend so beautifully expressed to me, I am carrying Kelly’s ashes with me wherever I go, sprinkling her spirit everywhere I travel, wherever her spirit and my spirit may lead. My future is uncertain, but it now has motive, it has direction, it has inspiration (thank you Jamison for such inspiration).

I’ve been offered a new position at work—HS ESL Paraprofessional—right up my alley. I’m not sure what will happen to our house, only time will tell. I’m considering finishing my Masters in ESL and am thinking about how a life in Fairbanks might fit into all these equations. Again, time will tell. For now, I will focus on the life of my beautiful Kelly. The girl I love so much. And miss so so much. But I am ready to move forward. I am ready to forge ahead and unravel the mysteries that lie there. This is my final CaringBridge journal entry.

I love you all and am filled with gratitude for each and every caring and uplifting guest entry. I’ll never have been able to say everything that needed to be said on this website, but you all sense the unsaid too. Let these letters continue in you. Let Kelly’s story and spirit be carried further and farther than any of us imagined. Kelly, I will see you some day. I’ll be with you again someday, and we’ll be happy. Together.

My email address is collinklag@yahoo.com. Feel free to email me if you like. I plan to check in on this site for some time, so please continue to write, if you are so moved. Over the coming weeks, I will update the pictures until all the photos are of Kelly.

This transient world just couldn’t hold an angel as beautiful and wonderful as Kelly.

Dear Kelly,

I love you. Forever.

Collin