Haunting Memories From Park City

Usually, I am not the type of person to live with regrets. Life is unpredictable and we win some and we lose some. We do our best and life keeps going.

But there is one day several years ago that still haunts me. I cringe to think of it and hesitate to write about it. Perhaps it will make someone think twice about the moments they have.

We spent the night with my sister-in-law in Provo, Utah, sleeping on couches and floor, or whatever tiny space we could find. We left the next morning before they got out of bed. I was surprised they hadn't woken up yet as it was already 9:30. Knowing what I know now, I think we would have woken them up. That is a regret, but not the one I refer to.

Thanksgiving was the day before, having spent it at my brother's home in Springville. Thinking back, now four years later, I know that Brittany sat near me, and that she had been sick and weak. My uncle Steve was there also, and he and my dad debated politics. The two of them look at life very differently and don't get along. It doesn't help that Steve is a Democrat. My grandpa sat in his wheelchair the entire time, often in front of the television, although his eyes couldn't make out the picture. When he spoke it was difficult to understand because of the softness of his voice. Although all of her cousins were there and playing in the backyard, Brittany stayed low-key. She just didn't have the energy.

After it was dark, and round-two of leftovers, we drove to Provo where we stayed at Jenelle's sister. Drew and Teresa didn't even get home until late and only saw us for a few minutes that night. They had only been married about a year, and lived in a cold apartment on the second story, with a view of the mountain tops from the balcony outside their door. Dishes stacked high from around the sink, and new-born Jackson took most of their time. When they brought him home that evening, we met him for the first time, wrapped up in soft baby blankets to keep him warm from the brisk November air. Sometimes, people only meet each other once, and tonight was one of those nights.

We left the next morning after eating cereal, and made a stop at Bridal Veil Falls. I should have thought this one through a little better, but when we hiked the paved trail to the base of the falls, a large sludge of ice formed along the declivity, and what would be an impressive cascade during spring and summer was instead a bitter disappointment. Wind blew, and still being in the shade, the kids were more miserable than impressed.

Back at the vehicle, we drove to an upper viewpoint and I got the picture I was looking for. Everyone else stayed inside.

When we passed Deer Creek Reservoir, I stopped again and stepped outside to get a picture of the water with a slightly skiffed Mount Timpanogos in the background. It is interesting—and I continue to make this same mistake today—that during our entire road trip, I persistently concerned myself with my own agenda: photos, nostalgia, a break from work etc., etc. Not once did I cherish the moment with those I loved most—the people sitting in the seats just behind me!

We passed though Heber City (home of Cael Sanderson), and looked out the window at the arms of Jordanelle Reservoir. Now, rising on the hills at our left, was our next destination, Park City.

Part of our reason for stopping here was nostalgia, and the other, curiosity. I spent six years of my life just 39 miles down the freeway in Henefer. At that time (I was eight years old) Park City wasn't much more than a ghost town, an old mining town gone bust. It hadn't been discovered by the Robert Redfords and the mega-millionaires, who eventually resurrected the town and turned it into a ritzy resort.

My memories from age eight were a bit foggy, so now I was determined to experience the town as an adult. It was a curiosity.

But even as an adult—now four years later—I can't remember that day as well as I'd like to. We parked just outside the main town and chose to walk the streets. There weren't many roads in the historical section of Park City, most of them set on a hill and somewhat steep. We walked on Main Street and noted with interest the freshly painted façades of the shops, and the old, yet touristy new design of the buildings. There was almost a European feel to the place, maybe from the narrow streets and close-quarters of the buildings. We saw a lady walk down the sidewalk with a large fur scarf around her neck, adding an air of snootiness to the mix.

We went inside a few of the shops, but everything was priced well out of our range. One store in particular that I remember  was a gallery of paintings and photographs. I especially admired the landscape photos, and took note of how they were composed, and of the lighting. As I remember, Brittany liked the gallery also. I thought she would. She was the artist in the family and could out-doodle anyone. I don't recall if we looked at pictures together, or if I pointed out a favorite to her, of if I pulled her to my side and gave her a hug. I don't remember. But what I do recollect is that she became exhausted from walking around and sat down on a bench just downstairs from the gallery.

We didn't devote too much time to Park City, as we still had to drive all the way to Mantua to spend a couple days with Jenelle's parents. It was November after all, and the sun doesn't stay up very long.

On our final stroll up Main Street, on the way back to our car, we passed a multi-colored statue of a moose. The moose wore a cowboy hat, as well as a saddle blanket and lip stick. Jenelle became so excited upon seeing the animal that we had to stop and get a picture. I took six photos, including one of Jenelle kissing the beast. I stood back on the sidewalk while the rest of the family gathered around to pose with the moose.

As I snapped away, I paused briefly so a group of pedestrians could pass by. “Would you like me to take the picture for you so you can stand in also?” one of them asked. I thought, and hesitated, and considered that it was just a silly moose, and that my being in the picture didn't really matter. “No, thank you,” I responded. And he went on his way.

That was my regret. That was the moment that still haunts me to this day. That was the incident that pricks my heart like a dull knife.

After two weeks of progressively becoming sicker, my daughter, Brittany, passed away on December 6^th. That silly picture in front of the moose would have been our last family portrait as an entire family. Without that, the last time we all posed together in front of a camera was about two years earlier.

Life goes on. You can't dwell on mistakes of the past. Please cherish those moments you have and the people you love most. Don't take life for granted. ♠