RECENT ESSAY: In July

“When I received the call from my mother that my younger brother had killed himself, I was sitting on an Interstate on-ramp east of Boise, Idaho.

There, I had just returned from 3 days in the backcountry and found myself in the single place where I had cell service. A quarter mile earlier, none. A quarter mile after, none.

I remember her timid voice — not filled with rage or even hurt, primarily just disappointment.

"Bryce, Heston did it. Find your way home."

I immediately yelled "what?!"

All she replied with was, "Do not yell at me."

What followed was hours of trying to figure out how to get home. After driving 4 hours east, in which each progressive stage of grief dripped from my eyes onto the cloth seat or fled from my mouth bouncing off the windshield, I flew out of Spokane.

I went home for most of June; he took action early, my birthday is towards the end.

My eldest sister and I emptied out his room after the biohazard company replaced the carpet and drywall that once surrounded him.

Soon a heatwave descended on Spokane. Temperatures well above 100º left me fearing the propane tank I left inside my truck. Whether valid or not, I was forced to return west.

What followed touching down on that runway was one of the most peaceful weeks of my life.

I returned to Idaho, back to the river where I had been days before. With no cell service and no hope of distraction, I paid utmost attention to my surroundings. I was enamored with the way water became white over shallow rocks. I spent hours staring at the bushes and the bees which found contentment in their flowers. I could hardly escape the trees above, or the sky beyond them.

What I found in Creation after my brother's death was not silence —

it was solace.

In all of her, I was reminded of Him. I was consumed not by thoughts of my brother's death, but by the care required to place each stone in that riverbed. Under the sun, my skin baked. 30 minutes staring at Creation would be followed by a moment or two in rushing snowmelt.

My existence was most physical: rushing water, buzzing pollinators, gusts bringing trees to and fro. There was no metaphor there… I simply found myself in an existence that was purely present.

And in presence, it became awfully difficult to think of tragedy that had struck or worry of what was to come.

There, I knew He cared for me as well.

Those moments, I will spend my entire life chasing.”

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