All my life I've been reminded that my parents are dead but nobody ever said how. There's no gravestone to visit, no obituary to read and nobody willing to say anything other than they're gone and I'm still here as if that somehow makes it alright.
I always liked to think they died in their sleep, all peaceful and serene in some quiet hotel out near the lakes they loved to hike around. They took me with them when I was a baby. I've seen the photos of me tucked away in their rucksack/baby-holder smiling just as hard as them and surrounded by the breathtaking landscape of the lake district.
All the stories of their week long hikes are what got me into camping in the first place. From there it was a downhill tumble into the adrenaline scene and taking dare after dare until I found myself cave-diving near my parent's favourite lake.
They say everything's connected out here, all the streams feed the lakes feed the rivers feed into the sea. They say that if you drop a penny down one stream you'll find it on the beach centuries later. They say one of the caves is full of abandoned cars.
I didn't think the latter was true until a few friend's dragged me along and proved otherwise. All I thought we'd find were a few rusty shells, maybe the odd tyre or steering wheel and we found so much more than that.
I found so much more than that.
I found my parents.
They weren't where I thought they'd be and I must have used most of my air tank while I struggled to wrap my head around what I was seeing and what they must have done to get there among the mountain of broken and unwanted cars, so far down that their bones were the same orange-tinged red as the rusted cars all around them.
I only recognised them for their clothing. The exact same clothing as their last photo of us as a family standing by the lake a few miles from where they are now. It was only when I calmed myself down a bit that I noticed the baby-seat half dislodged through the rear window, the damage that had been done to the rear door and how the rest of the car was perfectly intact.
I always liked to think they died in their sleep, all peaceful and serene in some quiet hotel out near the lakes they loved to hike around. They took me with them when I was a baby. I've seen the photos of me tucked away in their rucksack/baby-holder smiling just as hard as them and surrounded by the breathtaking landscape of the lake district.
All the stories of their week long hikes are what got me into camping in the first place. From there it was a downhill tumble into the adrenaline scene and taking dare after dare until I found myself cave-diving near my parent's favourite lake.
They say everything's connected out here, all the streams feed the lakes feed the rivers feed into the sea. They say that if you drop a penny down one stream you'll find it on the beach centuries later. They say one of the caves is full of abandoned cars.
I didn't think the latter was true until a few friend's dragged me along and proved otherwise. All I thought we'd find were a few rusty shells, maybe the odd tyre or steering wheel and we found so much more than that.
I found so much more than that.
I found my parents.
They weren't where I thought they'd be and I must have used most of my air tank while I struggled to wrap my head around what I was seeing and what they must have done to get there among the mountain of broken and unwanted cars, so far down that their bones were the same orange-tinged red as the rusted cars all around them.
I only recognised them for their clothing. The exact same clothing as their last photo of us as a family standing by the lake a few miles from where they are now. It was only when I calmed myself down a bit that I noticed the baby-seat half dislodged through the rear window, the damage that had been done to the rear door and how the rest of the car was perfectly intact.
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