A Single Strand

I still hear them.

Whimpers.

Sobs.

“Come on, stay with us.”

“Keep breathing bud.”

A single piercing shriek.

The finality of the silence that follows. God it’s awful.

I see them.

Eyes round.

Shoulders hunched as if they are facing a strong wind.

Shock. Dry eyes, empty.

Stillness. Awkward, unnatural.

I planned what I was going to say, what I was going to do. I was concerned as I ran over the rocks. I had seen this before, I’d looked death in the eyes at work.

I wasn’t ready. 

It seems sharp, but the edges are actually blurred by tunnel vision.

“I’m a nurse. Has someone been called?”

“We’re nurses too.” I see the shock in their eyes, hiding behind the role they are playing.

I look down. 

I don’t have to ask.

I may not have been a nurse for a very long time, but I know. 

They know.

We don’t say it out loud.

What we do say is clinical, remote, unattached. Again we hide behind the description of our jobs in places far from where we are.

“Pupils blown. Heart rate 23, 2 respirations per minute. No radial pulse. Feet mottled”

Eyebrows raised with the slightest shoulder shrug. 

Nothing. Nothing can be done.

A single strand of rope through his device.

I turn and gaze up. Following the line of bolts, glinting in the sun till they disappear.

I follow it down, down, down to where he lies, hiding the jagged rocks, under his broken body.

I turn. 

I wish I had hot tea to offer them. For whatever its worth. Its the gesture I want to make.

I search for the right words. 

There are none. 

I brusquely make sure they are ok.

An hour and a half later a medic walks by. A helicopter swoops in. Too much, too late.
I get angry. 
We could have picked him up and been to the hospital in twenty minutes. What took so long?
Would he have made it?
Probably not. 

A few deep breaths.

Sleep eludes me. I toss. I turn. 

Days later, its till in my thoughts. Constantly.

My heart breaks for his family. His friends. Yet I’m so glad it doesn't directly affect me.

It’s inevitable. It’s going to happen as I continue to climb. Some one I care about is going to make that one mistake, is going to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Its going to be me with shell shocked eyes, hunched shoulders, holding onto memories of times spent in the mountains, of pushing ourselves to the limit and beyond, of the deep bond that connects climbing partners, of post-climbing drinks on patios in summer or by the fire in winter.  

Is it worth it?