Wake from your sleep,
the drying of your tears,
Today we escape, we escape.
…
And now we are one
in everlasting peace,

Radiohead

In the summer of 1999, Chelsea and I had the unique pleasure of jaunting off to Africa for a humanitarian expedition to see the fruits of a Highland High fundraiser put to use. She and I shared several unique experiences during that trip that have left lasting impressions upon my mind. Most notably, I remember one morning about 2,000 feet shy of the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

We arrived at the last camp at about 7:00 p.m. after 10 hours of hiking and three previous days of the same. Passing through jungle to tundra to glacier, the ascent was truly spectacular. I remember the reflection of the sunset off the glacier that night. It was freezing. It was the first time either Chel or I had been at 17,000 feet. We were tired but mostly we were cold. So I remember we drank down some warm Milo tried to eat something despite any real desire to eat and quickly tucked away in our tents since we were to rise at 12:30 a.m. to begin our ascent to the summit and what would be a 20 hour day of hiking.

I’m not sure either of us slept much that night. The combination of going to bed so early, knowing we were to be up in only a few hours, and the effect of the altitude made for a sleepless cocktail. When it was time to rise, I was packing up when Chelsea entered my tent. She looked at me and said “I am not going to the top with you…I’m sick and will be here when you get back.”

I was all at once devastated. Immediately I choked up with tears. How was I to continue on in this short journey without her, to leave her behind after we had spent the last four days of arduous hiking working towards reaching the top of Africa. I pleaded with her to let Jess Dalton and I carry her to the top. Surely we could figure a way to get her there in no less comfort than she was then enjoying from what I believed was altitude sickness. My mind raced to figure something out. Jess even proposed, “If you throw up on the trail, it will immediately freeze.” This made a lot of sense at the time, and upon later reflection brought countless laughs among us.

Once it was clear that I was truly affected by her statement, in true Chelsea form she let me know she was only joking and was really just coming to see why I was not ready yet. Crying and laughing never felt so good.
We reached the summit hours later at around 6:35 a.m. as we watched sunrise reflect an indescribable purple off the glacier. On the descent, Chelsea’s knee bothered her a bit, but 20 hours after we awoke that morning, we were down the mountain reflecting upon our journey.

Chelsea’s sense of humor was so unique and played so well off individual personalities. Amidst all the facades of high school insecurities, Chelsea was always toying with people to figure out just who they really were. She despised hypocrites and loved things that were real. I think this was a reflection of her desire to have people understand her for who she truly was and not to be perceived by immature notions of “coolness,” games which she did not play. I feel so fortunate that she allowed me to know her on so many levels.

"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." Mr. Darcy

Thanks for the memories.

Love,

Jared R.