Good day of climbing
Yesterday was the funeral of my friend.
And what a beautiful ceremony it was. We were so honored be there. The Pueblo allowed the eight of us gringos from the pizza place to attend Darryl’s service and even the burial, which we were originally not permitted to go to. They even mentioned us in the ceremony and thanked us for being so important to Darryl, at which point we all lost it of course.
There was no open-casket (or casket at all), like I grew up with, only piles of colorful blankets for him to rest in, which I found more humane than a fancy box to be locked into for eternity. Everyone took a handful of dirt and threw it on his body before mother earth swallowed him back up. It was a precious experience and his family was so kind to us, giving us each hugs and weeping in our arms. I knew we all cared a lot about Darryl, even though few of us knew him all that well, but I had no idea we meant so much to him.
As I get older and my heart opens more, I’m finding myself overwhelmed with losing people, even people I don’t know all that well. Maybe it’s because all those years as a closed-off young woman who refused to cry are now catching up with me. Maybe you mourn every single loss all over again with each new one. I dunno. But I do know that I love my Taos community and I love my Pizanos family all the more now, which is certainly one of the only positive outcomes of death. I climbed with some friends after the ceremony and then went to work last night and had fun with my coworkers in Darryl’s honor. What a day. What a sad but beautiful day.
The mountain got 27 inches of snow in the last few days. Thank god. Maybe we won’t burn to the ground this summer afterall. So puuuuurty
What a sad day.
Taos is the most tragic place I’ve ever lived. I’ve only lost a handful of people in my life but almost all of those have been in Taos. And every single one of them has been tragic and unexpected - murder, car wreck, suicide.
Yesterday we lost another gem in our community, a co-worker and friend at the pizza shop. He was from the pueblo, was a lot older than me, and we had pretty much nothing in common. But i looked forward to coming to work because of him - he called me “my love” somedays and “crazy girl” the others and I made up a Darryl dance that some of the girls would do with me when he came and picked up the bus tub. I pronounced his name with a thick southern accent, like the Darryls on Newhart, and he blushed when I’d scream it across the kitchen. But He secretly admitted to me he loved it when I did that. He was a quiet, humble man and everyone at work adored him. He had the biggest heart, the warmest smile, and the best under-his-breath one-liners and I’m gonna miss the hell out of him. Rest in peace Darryl. I’ll never stop doing the Darryl dance in my heart.