For Every Missing Shade

Entry 36

I woke up to a golden sun rising over the canyon. The night became bitterly cold so I clutched my sleeping bag close and prepared to get out of the tent. I checked my watch and saw that it was only a little past 5:30. Emma was going to be asleep for a couple of hours more, so I decided to take advantage of a little bit of alone time.

I put on more than enough layers as well as a thick pair of sweatpants. I crept out of the tent with nothing more than my phone for some music. I walked out over the sandy rock beneath me until I came across the ledge. The sun was crisp against my face and my breath made a soft fog as it came out of my mouth.

I put my phone down, deciding to lay off of the music for a while.

Animals were waking up alongside me as I heard birds chirping. The night sky was still present above me, but the stars were fading into a brightening sky on the horizon.

I had some time to think before I knew my stomach would demand breakfast, so I used it as best I could. I thought through what Emma said about feeling insignificant. The thought made me feel comfortable, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because, even though it sounded true, it wasn't.

Insignificance isn't defined by size, it's defined by impact. And yes, humans are small. We aren't giants, we don't have superpowers, but we have an impact. We can't move mountains. I mean, most of us can't even climb them. But, it's the art, culture, language, discovery, and everything else that makes humanity special and separated from everything else.

No matter what we like to think, we are not insignificant. In the timespan of the universe, there will be a strange blip in its multi-billion year history where intelligence, discovery, self-awareness, and humanity came to be. And no amount of size, power, or god-like influence can take that away from us.

We have one thing that can never be taken away from us: we were here.

And that will be true with Emma too. Even though her death won't destabilize the Earth or cause a tear in the universe, her significance will not be lost. At least not until I die as well.

The sky was lighting up with more yellows and reds as the sun gently replaced the night sky. I lifted myself off of the chair I was sitting on and walked back to the tent.

I got our cooler as well as a butane stove from the car. I poured water in a coffee pot and pulled out a small piece of printer paper while I waited for it to boil. I kept a ream of paper in my backpack at all times just in case the desire to sketch came over me, but lately that whole part of my brain was dormant.

Creativity went to Emma and nothing else. But, with the Grand Canyon in front of me and Emma sleeping in the tent, there wasn't much else to do.

I put a pencil to paper and started to draw the curves of a tent. Ahead of it, the ledges of a canyon curved and met each other in a crooked, jagged mess. I started drawing the sun, but quickly erased it. Instead, I drew two people on a blanket underneath a night sky.

I found a pack of colored pencils in my bag as well and began coloring with them. Rainbow rivers shot light up through the canyon cracks to contrast the black night sky. Each star was a different color, some of them multiple. Shooting stars left their neon tracks in the sky and constellations were drawn exaggerated and bright.

The two people laying down each had a flashlight in their hands. They had them raised up towards the sky. Rainbow light shot out of each one, making the stars somehow brighter.

It was sloppy, no doubt, but it was a good start. I forgot how much better I felt when I was drawing. People say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I don't think I could ever explain my emotions better than with drawing. It didn't matter how many words you gave me.

I looked down at my watch and it was already two hours later. I barely had time to think of how fast it went, though, because I began to hear some stirring in the tent. I quickly began cooking our eggs and bacon as I heard her putting on clothes. She was breathing heavily as she walked out of the tent and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"How are you this fine morning?" I asked.

"Good," she said, still trying to control her breath. "I had kind of a restless night of sleep because I had a cough. I'm starting to feel like these lungs are starting to crap out on me."

"Are you sure you don't want to do anything about it?"

"I'll be fine, but maybe we won't do any hiking today. Let's just sit by the canyon and enjoy what we have in front of us."

"Sounds good to me," I said, not convinced by what she was saying. All she did was get up.

She brought over her checklist and gave it to me. "We also have to get into yoga or some shit like that," she said.

"Sounds good to me," I responded.

She went to the car as I finished up our breakfast and returned with two mats. We ate and set them up by the edge.

The rest of the day we spent sitting by the canyon. We'd talk about our trip, about what were our favorite parts, and how it's felt like forever and like we just started at the same time. It's weird how this whole thing is already halfway finished. I have no idea what she has planned for the rest of it, but it must be amazing.

She did give me some clues as to what we might do. She conceded that the rest of the trip will be more relaxed. she thought it would be better to calm down since the doctors promised that she'd be basically bed-ridden within a week or two.

I asked her if she regretted not going for any treatment and she was quick to say no. She said she'd rather live for two months to the fullest of her ability than another six to eight in-and-out of the hospital. She also mentioned that she would hate to be bald.

We made a quick lunch followed by dinner once the sun started to set. We roasted s'mores by the fire and enjoyed another small night with the stars above us. All seemed quiet. Quiet and right. It was like we were suddenly old people, spending our days sitting at the porch talking about what was already behind us.

"The Glory Days" they called them.

They say you never know you're in them until you've already left, but that's not the case right now. I know exactly where I am because, for once in my life, I know when they will stop.