Neshama Franklin - Grand Canyon

 

There I was in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I was really sick. “How did this happen? How did this happen? Nine months after my husband, John, of 35 years had died, we had two grown children. We had a new granddaughter. What was I doing down there?” Well, my sister Catherine, who had seen me through his death, loves the Grand Canyon. She arranged this trip and she said, "Come on, Neshama, it's a trip in a lifetime. And you couldn't go down with John, because it was too far from medical help, so come." And I said, "Do you think I'll be ready?" She said, "Well, it's a gestational period, nine months." 

 

And so, there I was on the plane going to Arizona. My voice had dropped to baritone. So, it was a cold, so I thought. But into the canyon, it became acute bronchitis. It was bad. And my sister, who's a nurse, was worried. So, she tried to rustle up some antibiotics from various people on the trip. There were a lot of medical personnel, and they weren't going to give us any of their drugs. So, she came to me, she opened her palm and on it were peeled garlic cloves. She said, "Italian penicillin." And I swallowed them. And then, she said, "So, you don't get airlifted out, you're going to have to drink more than you ever thought you could hold, and you're going to have to get that gunk out of your lungs."

 

Therefore, I was not the person you want sitting next to you on the raft. I was hawking, and spitting, and I was reeking of garlic. [audience chuckles] I was often crouching over a pecan. Now, on the river, you're supposed to just hold onto the side of the boat and hang on out and let the river take your deposit. [audience chuckles] But I couldn't do that. I was too weak. Everybody else went through the rapids with terrified, screaming joy, and I just went through terrified, holding on for dear life.

 

And then, we would come to the shore, and I would wobble out and lie down and let the activity of the camp swirl around me. I felt very weak and very alone. Usually, I'd be the person handing the stuff from boat to shore, and then looking for the perfect campsite, and then helping with the food. But I just lay there. I especially felt alone when they went off on those side trips, those side hikes. There I was under the shade, what shade there was. And then, I realized what was really going on in this deep crack in the earth. Under the pitiless blue sky, I could finally feel what had actually happened. I mean, I thought I had done my grieving, but I had gone on with my life, and I needed to feel the weight of presence and the weight of absence.

 

One strange thing that happened is that John died of a lung disease. And there I was struggling for breath. It was as if he was right inside me. I didn't have any distractions. It was silent, except for the crows and the gurgle of the river. I couldn't even read, which is my solace because I was so sick. So, I lay there and I felt it. And then, I got better. Let's hear it for Italian penicillin. [audience chuckles] 

 

It was time, because nobody but my sister and I knew that we had brought John down on the river with us in whatever form we could, a bag of ashes. And that's what I was going to do. I was going to scatter his ashes. We decided the place he'd love most was the Little Colorado, a playful side stream. So, while everyone else on the trip was going down this little carnival ride, Catherine and I sloshed upstream, and we found a quiet glen. I got ready to scatter the ashes. I imagined they would swirl and mix and go down the Colorado.

 

Anyone who knows anything about ashes knows this doesn't happen, especially when there's a wind. [audience chuckles] So, I dumped out the bag, and the ashes coated me. I was covered with John. [audience chuckles] And all I could do was dunk and weep and dunk and weep. You should know that I do not cry readily. When he was washed off, to the best of my ability, I went back to where they were going down the Little Colorado. I put on my life jacket upside down like a diaper. That's how you protect your rump from rocks on the bottom. I stuck my feet out and down the Little Colorado. I floated three times. When I crawled out the last time, a guide looked at me and he said, "Neshama, what was going on? I never saw such a beatific expression on anyone going down the Little Colorado." I said, "I was traveling with my husband John, and I was learning to let him go." Thank you.