OUT IS THROUGH
Pai & Tham Nam Lod, Thailand
June 17th & 18th, 2022
Long before the race, I’d made arrangements for Kez to travel with us to Pai. From there, we’d rendezvous with my friend, Jeff, and all jump in Mister A’s van to go hiking at Tham Nam Lod Caves. After the brutality of her defeat, I wasn’t sure Ceci would tolerate being trapped with Kez for several hours but it turned out to be a non-issue.
We were all too busy trying not to vomit.
The roads. Holy BeJesus, those were some mountain roads and I’m a West Virginia girl who grew up on winding, single-lane, brake burners. I’d stay green around the gils every summer on that drive up to Circleville, where Dad’s sisters, Norma and Connie, still lived. God forbid we ended up behind an eighteen-wheeler. There was no passing. We were stuck at a slow crawl adding hours to the misery.
Mister A, however, had never met a car or truck he couldn’t blow off the road. He tore around those mountains, pedal to the metal, rain or shine. We all bounced off the sides of the van until Kez eventually surrendered, closed his eyes and stretched out flat across his row of seats. I was exceedingly grateful when we pulled up to Wat Ban Den, the first of two scheduled stops on our way north. It would give our stomachs a moment to recover.
The word “wat” in Thai comes from the word “vata” in Sanskrit meaning “enclosure” - but to refer to the nearly 45,000 Buddhist temples of Thailand as mere “enclosures” would be disrespectful. Each wat has its own history, reputation and personality, its own stupas and Buddhas, its own unique aesthetic.
Wat Ban Den takes the “unique” in their aesthetic to the extreme. If Salvador Dali and Dr. Seuss ever co-designed a temple, it would be Wat Ban Den. The grounds offer up a pu pu platter of extravagant Buddhist temples covered by multi-tiered roofs, gilded statues, intricate wood carvings, colorful stucco work and tingling bells.
You want a purple chicken? They’ve got a purple chicken. Mosaic tiled dragon? Look to your left. Giant Buddha? Here’s your giant Buddha. Reclining in gold? Got that too. It was visual stimulation multiplied by a thousand. Ceci lasted twenty minutes before she joined Mister A back at the van. Kez and I kept exploring.
What makes Wat Ban Den particularly famous is the twelve chedis (pagodas) representing the twelve animals of the zodiac. They were commissioned by the abbot Kru Ba Tuang in the late 80’s when he was given oversight of the wat.
At that time, Wat Ban Den was in bad shape. The abbot was well-respected and able to quickly raise millions to renovate the entrance gateway and the main virhan but once those were done and the money continued to flow, the abbot decided to get his fancy on.
All around the wat, locals were undertaking long pilgrimages to temples representing their animal zodiac signs. This was a required journey, to ensure that when they died, their spirits would have a “forever home”.
The abbot saw an opportunity. Since most of the zodiac temples were far from Chiang Mai, the abbot commissioned twelve chedis to be built, each one representing a zodiac animal. Now, locals could fulfill their spiritual pilgrimage closer to home. And of course, that meant their money, their “dana” - offerings to practice generosity - would stay local too. It was a savvy move.
More money flowed so the abbot continued to build as bus loads of tourists showed up for the life-sized sculptures of mythical creatures and deities, to ooh-and-ah over the intricate and remarkable craftsmanship of Thai artisans. The abbot never required an entrance fee - but he made sure there were easily visible donation boxes in every temple.
Forty years later, they’re still there.
I tucked a few baht into the boxes as Kez and I navigated the vibrant courtyards, weaving in and out of temples, shoes off, shoes on, shoes off, shoes on. Well, that was me walking barefoot in the temples, not Kez. I’d been well-trained in Hawai’i to always remove my shoes at a doorway but Kez was a mainlander, I’m not sure it even registered, that gesture of respect.
We took a moment to linger by the reclining gold Buddha, saying nothing but shooting lots of video, and as we walked back to the van, I told him the story of the mud Buddha. That somewhere in Thailand, there’d been this massive clay statue of the Buddha. Huge. Ten feet tall. Nothing fancy but people respected it for its sheer size. Then, one day, a monk noticed a crack in the clay and as he examined it closely, he saw something shining. All the other monks gathered around and agreed, yes, there was a shining underneath the clay.
They got flashlights and started examining other cracks - yes, more shining. So the decision was made to dismantle the clay. Underneath was the largest solid gold Buddha in all of Southeast Asia. It had been in hiding since the 18th century when the monks covered it with mud to protect it from the invading Burmese army.
That Buddha became such a metaphor for me - of how we cover ourselves in moments of danger, protecting ourselves by hiding, but then we forget we’re actually made of gold - that we were meant to shine. We truly start to believe that all we are is…mud.
As I finished my story, we stepped into a large viharn housing an absolutely massive Buddha. Kez and I just stared at each other - was this the Buddha I’d just spoken about? We weren’t sure and there wasn’t anyone around to ask, so we decided to pay our respects regardless. Better safe than sorry.
For all the bling and zing of Wat Ban Den, their bathrooms did me in. I took one look inside a stall, turned right around and “held it” until we got to our little lunch spot just outside of Mok Fa. (I’ll spare you any more description.)
The trail to the waterfall was a quick easy walk, slightly slick with mud, well-worn and not challenging in the slightest. Still, it was the longest trail I’d ever completed with Ceci and that felt remarkable, even if she wouldn’t pose for pictures.
As we neared the actual waterfall, the rocky path seemed to slither under our feet. Tons of creepy-crawly bugs skittered and scattered before each step. Ceci was not a fan. Though I held her hand and encouraged her to follow me, she was done. She would take not one more step and had no interest in finding out what other creatures might be lurking nearby. Mister A agreed to hike her back to the bus while Kez and I pulled off our shoes, waded into the cold pooling waters.
The waterfall was powerful and I wished I’d brought a bathing suit, though I’m not sure I could have handled the pressure. There was cold mist in the air, not quite a shower, but enough for a spray. My face was wet. A beautiful place, and we had it totally to ourselves.
Kez wrapped around me as we held each other and talked. I don’t remember what we spoke about, probably a thousand things. We were an unlikely duo in a similar predicament. Having exceeded insurmountable goals: taking it to the world’s courts, Hollywood sets, running plays, running shows, kissing trophies and making award speeches, red carpet walks and retired jerseys, we found ourselves adrift, with empty years laid out in front of us, (him more than me) yearning for purpose.
Both of us asking of God: “what comes next?” Neither of us had any answers. But I knew we were both deeply invested in finding the truth and I was grateful to have a companion by my side, weaving in and out of each other's lives, the DNA helix of soul-searching.
Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe we spoke about Kez’s ex. We probably did. Kez was struggling with his diminished status - demoted from boyfriend to best friend to no contact at all. His heart was heavy with grief and regret. I understood that feeling. Losing people you love takes many forms. They all hurt.
Because of what I’d been through, burying a husband, there were many people who wouldn’t speak about their own losses to me. Maybe their elderly parent died or they were considering a divorce, I wouldn’t hear about any of it. My loss was “so much worse” that they downplayed their problems in my presence.
It created a sense of separation.
That I was “othered” - placed on a pedestal of pain.
Peak suffering.
Kez never handled me like that, with kid gloves. As if I needed shelter from the suffering all around me. As if I might break under the weight of too much. As if I was incapable of rescuing myself or helping others. He assumed I would figure shit out. Not overnight, but eventually and in the meantime, there was no need to pity me or protect me. He’d share. I’d listen. And the world would spin madly on.
We made it to Pai, though I had to pop a second Dramamine to get there without vomiting. The roads were brutal but Pai was worth the trip. A very walkable, affordable and honestly, adorable little town filled with backpackers. Tons of tiny shops, bars, restaurants and massage parlors. Street food and that one hot guy that always sits at the end of the bar and picks up the hippie girl, gives her something to write home about - and probably something else that requires antibiotics.
Our hotel was actually a collection of cottages nestled among the trees, quaint and cozy. Ceci and I got settled then I gave her the bed while I stepped out onto the porch to journal. I was feeling grumpy. That long, rainy ride through the mountains did me in. Cecilia was loaded up with energy, couldn’t stop talking. I needed some space.
I could see Kez’s long legs stretched out on the porch opposite me, his cottage was just across the path. He was journaling too. I doubt it was about me but you better believe I wasn’t done processing The Race. I wrote in my journal:
“Kez pushes me - makes me step up and feel more, be more, live more - and it absolutely rips me in half. To be challenged in this way - his pure masculine energy - his alpha - I’ve never been able to bear that frequency. I’ve always been disgusted with the alpha masculine. I was from a world where masculine meant bar fights, Friday night lights, beat up girlfriends, addiction, rape - I don’t know if I even believe in conscious, divine ALPHA energy.“
Though Clayton grew up in Oklahoma, with the lore of cowboy stoicism, football and oil fields, he’d trained in New York and San Francisco as a professional Shakespearean actor. His emotional intelligence was off the charts and his malleability and flexibility to respond to a director’s requests were well-honed. As I always said, Clayton could take a note. If I ever mentioned an issue, like “let’s stop leaving our shoes right in front of the door,” there would never, ever be shoes in front of that door again.
Clayton was an artist and a romantic which meant, from a stereotypical viewpoint, he was sports-aversive, a diplomat not a fighter. He led through persuasion not force and was an aesthetic, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t haul an air-conditioner up a flight of stairs. Though I lived with him for years, Clayton’s physical strength always took me by surprise. Especially after his final surgery, when I watched him, quite literally, force his paralyzed right leg to walk.
I told him then, and it’s still true now, that if our little family was fated to walk the brain cancer journey, (if anything is fated?) then we ended up on the “right” side of things - him handling the physical and performative and me handling the psychological and communicative. Our strengths became our roles.
It wouldn’t have mattered to me if Clayton couldn’t lift a book, I was totally over the toxic masculinity crap from my childhood, post-football bonfires where the boys got black-out drunk and beat each other up.
Moving to New York, I dated musicians, actors, activists, dancers, writers, the occasional model. For a year, I lived with a photographer who’d grown up on Cape Cod. My male Park Slope roommates were studious PhD candidates at The New School. I liked my men smart and curious, baby-faced and kind. (Abs never hurt.) If I even smelled a whiff of alpha bravado, I was outta there.
Having Kez’s Divine Alpha Dude Energy around was challenging not just for Cecilia but for me. We bristled against it. A scratchy shirt on soft skin, it manifested as agitation. Suppressed fears flowing like lava through my veins. A nervous undercurrent of shifting perspectives. The way I worry when stepping into the unknown.
Ceci’s agitation was more practical. She was bouncing with the pent-up energy of taking that long bus ride and needing to move. I gave up trying to decompress with my journal and instead, got Ceci out of our little cottage. We had dinner at our hotel then walked the village until we found an open massage parlor. Thai massage is cheap and effective but you have to be willing to strip down behind flimsy sheets, standing on linoleum floors, while ladies chatter and the band across the street plays covers. It’s part of the charm. An amazing massage in a janky location. Nine bucks.
This ain’t Burke Williams.
Ceci calmed down enough to fall asleep in her rollaway bed. I watched her sleep, for a moment, one of my favorite things to do. She’d gotten taller since we got to Thailand, had lost the baby-fat of her cheeks but with her eyes closed and lips pursed, she still looked like a cherub.
There are moments when we are keenly aware of the passing of time. Thailand was a gun-fire rapid series of those moments, stacked on top of each other. It seemed, overnight, my daughter had grown up.
The question was…had I?
Jeff met us at the hotel the next morning. The day before, he’d driven his rented scooter up from Chiang Mai to Pai on those curvy mountain roads, passed by flying trucks and cars, for hours, in the pouring rain. It was insanity but that’s Jeff’s style - two parts reckless endangerment + one part blissful curiosity with a healthy sprinkle of 420 mellow vibes.
We hadn’t known each other long. A few months. Jeff and I met through the hiking community on O’ahu. He’d gone with me to Ka’ena to test out my new camelbak, waterproof pants, and break in my boots right before I left for Peru. We’d both ended up soaked, covered in mud and chased by seabirds protecting their nests. The daddy birds jabbing at Jeff’s long legs required him to Air Jordan along the trail. Jeff may fearlessly hike mountains I won’t go near. At night. In the dark. Wearing flip flops. But he is not a fan of wild animals and pecking birds.
Nearly two decades my junior, Jeff became my official Hinge-navigator. I’d call him, confused by some breadcrumb text and Jeff would deconstruct the implied undertones of each emoji. Jeff had been dating in swipe-right culture a lot longer than me. It was if I’d been dropped on an alien planet, where people communicated through hieroglyphics and Jeff could read and speak the language. He functioned as my translator.
He’d also been itching to travel so when I announced Ceci and I were spending the summer in Southeast Asia, he booked his flights to parallel our comings and goings. Maybe our presence was a safety net - it was his first overseas trip - but we rarely saw him. We missed him in Bangkok entirely but met up for BBQ near our villa outside Chiang Mai before we all went to a Thai boxing match in the old town. (And in the ongoing world of Susan’s Synchronized Spiritual Happenstances, it turned out Jeff played ball with Kez’s brother in Texas.)
After that harrowing scooter drive to Pai, Jeff was more than happy to hitch a ride in Mister A’s bus for the even more intense, hour-plus rollercoaster to Tham Lod. Cecilia was glad to see a friendly face from home and the two of them settled into the front of the bus while Kez took up residence in the back, stretched out, earbuds in.
Our first stop was a scenic overlook, somewhere Mister A decided we needed to see, also insisting we all pose for a group photo which was decidedly not our usual modus operandi. We were all sort of reluctant to do the “tourist” thing but when I look at the photo now, it makes me smile.
We were an odd crew. A middle-aged widow with her blonde, tween daughter hanging with two lanky, tall brothers, their knees and elbows akimbo, all of us a little bit carsick but game for an adventure, standing on the precipice of something really beautiful happening.
That picture captures a very specific moment in time. The "before" of what turned into an amazing day. What came "after" changed my daughter...forever.
Tham Lod is a mile long limescale cave system in the Pang Mapha District of the Mae Hong Province in northern Thailand. It’s said to the be most extensive cave system in the country, with the Nam Lang River flowing directly through it. All hikers are required to hire local guides, Shan villagers, equipped with gas lanterns and bamboo rafts in order to even enter the protected and sacred site.
Because that’s what Tham Lod is…a sacred and magnificent series of caves that in the late Pleistocene to late Holocene eras functioned as both a tool workshop and burial site for the hunter-gatherers that lived there. It’s believed to have been a central hub for trading with neighboring societies since thousands of stone artifacts, mostly axes and hammering tools, were recovered from its cavernous rooms.
But there are coffins too, and in 2006, excavations at Tham Lod revealed the complexity of the burial practices when three skeletons were exhumed. They’d been buried with grave goods and weapons, indicating they were highly respected hunters. Tham Lod is hallowed ground.
This is information I learned after our visit, having (wrongly) assumed our guided tour would be an educational adventure rather than an act of endurance and bravery. If I’d known what we were walking into, I may have reconsidered dragging my ten-year-old daughter into the fray.
(Scratch that, I would have DEFINITELY reconsidered.)
In hindsight, I realize my decision to explore Tham Lod was based on a singular image, a picture I saw of a guide steering a bamboo raft through a well-lit, magical cave. There was a serenity to that image that called to me. I wanted to be there. Experience that peace. In my head, we’d be lounging for most of the tour, floating. A river cruise of sorts.
Spoiler alert: Tham Lod is NOT a river cruise.
Upon arrival, we paid our entrance fee, bought two baggies of fish food and then our little group of five (including Mister A) was assigned two female guides, each of them holding a gas lantern. Cecilia was in high spirits. Fish food, boats and lanterns? That all sounded like a good time.
They then led us down a stone path toward the gaping mouth of the first chamber, known as Tham Sao Hin, Stone Column Cave, where it dawned on all of us, at the exact same moment, that we were leaving the sunlight of the living world to walk into a pitch-black, can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face cave filled with bats, rats and swifts and whatever else was creeping and crawling around in there.
Cecilia and Kez both immediately shot me hard looks of, “What the hell have you gotten us into” while Jeff didn’t even blink twice. He just whipped out his phone and started recording. Our guides lit their lanterns then took their positions, one in front of us, the other behind.
The only source of light provided, their lanterns created bouncing shadows, eerie shapes, looming and swooping around us. Cecilia grabbed my hand as I tied the baggies of fish food to my cross-body, fumbled to find my phone, and switched on the light. Kez was ahead of me, his light was already on, illuminating the path in front of his feet. Cecilia, slightly panicked, lunged to stay in his light, dragging me with her.
“Honey, hold on, give me a second.”
But the darkness was ravenous. If you didn’t keep up with the ladies, it swallowed you whole and Cecilia could feel it nipping at her heels. Anxiety and fear urged her to stay close, move fast, not let go. She was dragging me behind her which might have been okay, if say we were walking on solid ground.
We were not.
Two out of the three caves in Tham Lod are navigated by stairs. Hand-made, wooden stairs that have warped and splintered and creak under the weight of bodies. Unevenly spaced stairs that disappear in moving shadows, reappear for a moment and demand your foot, then swiftly disappear again as your ten-year-old daughter struggles to follow the light wherever it leads.
Cecilia’s initial excitement quickly transmuted into fear and her limbic response was flight, a very dangerous option when you’re balancing on two-by-fours, sixty-five feet above solid rock. I knew this was a moment when I had to take complete control of her emotional state. There was no room for error or negotiation.
“Cecilia, stop, stop. Listen to me. We have to do this step by step. One at a time. Me and you, together. You can’t pull me or we will both fall. We have to slow down and pay attention to every step. That’s it. We will hold to the rail then step and step, then brace ourselves then step and step. Listen to me and do exactly what I say.”
Cecilia quieted and took my hand. I led her firmly at first. Brace, step, step. Brace, step, step. And then we found our pattern. Brace, step, step. And I could tell she trusted me. Brace, step, step. And that she felt safe. Brace, step, step. And that she could see the end of the stairs. Brace, step, step. And she was okay to do the last few on her own. So I released her hand and she followed the lady with the lamp and waited for me at the base of the stairs. The first hard climb of the first cave was done. We survived.
As I caught up to Cecilia, I gave her a big hug, so proud of my girl. “Great job, honey. You did it. That wasn’t easy, even for experienced hikers. Even for adults, this is a hard hike. You’re being very brave.”
Ceci looked me straight in the eye and said, “After this, I’m never speaking to you again.”
The zig-zagging and climbing of wobbly wooden stairs continued as we explored the second cavern, called the Doll’s Cave, our guides pointing to formations but unable to explain much about them. We didn’t speak Thai. They didn’t speak English. Mister A did his best to fill in the details.
It had been forty-five minutes of stalagmites and stalactites and Cecilia was totally done with our stair-master of a hike. In the dark, I saw the lanterns of the bamboo rafts drifting our way, waiting for us to board but Ceci wouldn’t budge. Her arms were crossed against her chest. Even in the shadows, I could tell she was scowling.
“I want to go back,” she announced with certainty. “I want this to be over.”
When Cecilia was a baby, Clayton and I made a pact. In any given moment and for no stated reason, one or the other of us could say, “Abandon Ship” and wherever we were, whatever we were doing, we would immediately stop everything, pack all our shit, get in the car and go home. No questions asked.
Cecilia refusing to budge in that cave felt like an “Abandon Ship” moment. The problem was my co-captain was gone and Kez & Jeff were under no obligation to succumb to the will of a hot, tired and pissed off ten-year-old. Everything in me wanted to bully my daughter into cooperating, wanted to “take control” like I’d done on the stairs but this was different. Cecilia wasn’t scared any more. She was just over it. She didn’t need my help. She needed me to hear her.
I took a moment to steady my voice. “I know this has been a lot and you’re the only kid in these caves. You’ve had to keep up with all these adults and you’ve done it. You’ve been amazing. There is only one more cave left. We’re almost done. Let’s just finish this.”
Cecilia shook her head. Nope.
“Here’s the thing, honey. To turn around now, we have to cover the same ground we just hiked. To go forward, we take the boats. It will be easier. You’ve done the hardest part. This is the last cave, we have to keep going.”
The promise of the boats seemed to soften her stance so I ventured turning our stalemate into a teaching moment. “Sometimes in life, the only way out is through.”
Cecilia reached out, took my hand and I walked her towards the rafts.
Rafts may be too generous a noun for the bamboo sticks and empty milk jugs that kept us afloat and out of the mouths of the most aggressive catfish I’d ever seen in my life. There were hundreds of them, piranha like, swarming the raft and I’d never been so grateful for a bag of fish food in my life.
Feeding the fish kept Cecilia distracted from our precariously balanced situation and seemed to keep the fish from knocking us of our raft. The sound of their sucking mouths like lips smacking in anticipation of a meal was unnerving. Especially in the pitch black and silence of the cave but Cecilia’s mood had lightened considerably. She slapped at the water to tease the fish, kept turning around to share her observations with me. She was all smiles, having embraced her mission to “see it through to the end.” It was remarkable to witness her adaptability and resilience at play. A master class in releasing the past and living in the moment.
I looked over and saw Jeff and Kez, their knees nearly up by their ears, seated and balancing on a raft barely the width of their bodies. We shot video of each other and as the Coffin Cave opened up, there was literally light at the end of the tunnel. Sunlight and swifts. A ceiling of bats. The sounds of their wings and singing.
This was the magical moment I’d wanted. The coming of the light after darkness. The opening of a whole world. The expansive sense of oxygen and freedom. The stunning green jungle in bright daylight, the blinding vibrancy of those colors after hours in the dark. All of it earned.
The grief metaphor was obvious. A widowed wife and her daughter, scaling rocks on unsteady stairs, in pitch black, scary things all around, unable to see more than the next steps in front of them. Holding to each other, in resistance, in anger, negotiating, bargaining, resentful but pressing on. Together. Until finally, there’s less climbing and more floating and even though it’s still dark and scary, there is laughter and smiling and moments of peace.
Then, comes the light. Faint, at first. Just the suggestion of luminosity on the cave walls. A greying of the black then a golding of the grey brightening into yellow-white. Paddling softly in the silence, one more stroke and it is given, in its full radiance. Precious, glowing illumination.
This is amazing grace.
Now, I see.
The only way out is through.
Cecilia opted to stay with the boats and Mister A rather than climb the final staircase in the third cave, the Coffin Cave, where disintegrating teakwood coffins, thousands of years old, thought to be carved by the Lawa tribe were stored. The climb to the coffins required even steeper stairs and these were covered in bat guano and swift droppings. There was absolutely no way to navigate the stairs without a railing and absolutely no way to hold to the railing without touching shit. It felt, to me, like the birds and bats were letting us know: this isn’t a tourist attraction. This is a burial site. Turn around.
We climbed and paid our respects (I bowed and apologized for our intrusion) but the descent down the stairs was too scary for me. Even in bright sunlight, I had to use the railing, which grossed me out frankly, and I was profoundly grateful Cecilia decided not to climb.
We returned to the rafts, relit the lanterns and for a moment, floated peacefully back into the darkness of the cave system. The next thing I knew, Kez was trying to balance on his rocking and rolling raft, in the middle of the catfish-laden river, hollering about something on the boat.
It was a spider. A big one. The size of Kez’s hand (which can palm a basketball if you’ve forgotten) and both Jeff and Kez were not happy about that freeloading stowaway. Ceci, on the other hand, was delighted. To see grown men (in her eyes, GIGANTIC MEN) losing their shit over a spider made her feel so much better about her own fears. It gave her total permission to have the heeby-jeebys and that, in turn, made her feel more brave. It’s like she finally realized she was “one of us” at that moment. We were ALL uncomfortable and a little on edge and doing our best. She hadn’t failed one bit.
I honestly thought Kez might swim the rest of the way back to the Doll’s Cave but we all somehow made it back to solid ground and the guides led us, taking an easier path through the limestone rockshelter until we emerged and found ourselves back inside Mister A’s van.
I half-expected Cecilia to make good on her promise to “never speak to me again” but she was in a great mood and hungry for noodles. She chitty-chatted Jeff up as Mister A drove us to Ban Jabo, a Black Lahu village in Mae Hong Son where dogs roam the streets and a very rustic, wooden shop clings to the side of a mountain, so high it will give you vertigo.
The shop is famous for its noodles and its awesome views, your feet dangling over the mountain with nothing between you and a long cliffside fall but a handmade railing that functions as a countertop. Jeff and Kez swung their long legs in mid-air but the height was too much for me. Ceci and I opted for a little table away from the edge, sitting on chopped tree trunks, slurping noodles and recounting the details of our adventure.
I kept telling her, over and over, how proud I was of her, how brave she’d been and how challenging the hike had been, even for me and Jeff, both experienced hikers. The focus and level of fitness required to climb those stairs was no joke and I wanted her to understand she’d overcome a tremendous challenge. She’d done what a lot of adults would not be capable of doing and she’d actually enjoyed herself in the end. I wanted her to feel proud but I wasn’t sure if my words landed. Ceci was busy with her bowl of noodles. A kid in the moment.
It wasn’t until we returned to Hawai’i that the full impact of that hike became apparent to me. People would ask about her summer and Cecilia would launch into the story of the caves, about Kez and the spider, about the pooping bats and the hungry catfish, about the shaky stairs. About how she had to keep going through. The only way out was through.
She learned very quickly that adults were impressed by her bravery and willingness to explore, her sense of adventure. Their amazed reactions solidified and validated what I’d said to her in Ban Jabo.
That she’d accomplished something truly amazing. A life-changing adventure.
That was the truth that became embodied in Cecilia at Tham Lod.
That she could do anything.
Absolutely anything.
It was a lesson we’d both need to face Bali.
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