The Possibility of a Final Goodbye

By Logan Vaughan

16 soggy shoes step on the dry dirt hiking path on the way back from the frigid mountain waterfall of the Olympic National Park. Squidgy sounds produced from Crocs make nature sound like a sci-fi movie and the melodic whispers of multiple conversations fill the otherwise silent forest except for the occasional camper passing us in the other direction. Each person walks next to someone else to maintain the quiet talking, making us look like a marching band at a football game. The light that comes from the beaming summer sun shines through the ginormous trees that tower above us all, looking like little ants walking through grass. There is a feeling of excitement for the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that are waiting for us back at the campsite, made by those who didn’t want to get into the cold mountainous water. The water is the closest thing to a shower out here, so relatively speaking, everyone that braved the cold temperatures is somewhat clean compared to others on the trip. After lunch, a long drive ahead awaits us, through the windy road and back across the lovely ferry with magnificent views. The Olympic mountains, one of our favorite camping destinations in the Pacific Northwest. This time it was for a PEPS trip which is a group of parents that met when their babies were born so they could share their parenting tips. We are some of the only people I know that continue to meet with our PEPS group because we have been doing it for such a long time. The people with us are basically family at this point, although some I am more fond of than others.

The group is very interesting, around 6 families of all different types. Most of the kids are around 13 years old while the others are just around 8 like me. The so-called camping isn’t quite what you might imagine, as it is very connected to life back home. But being in the outdoors is what counts. For us city people, it is all you can ask for. This was on the second day of the camping trip, when we decided to make the 2-mile trek through the forest to the waterfall to swim as a way to get a break from the extreme temperatures. A couple of the parents didn’t come with us because it was “too far”, but we still decided to go. My two parents along with five other children and I set off from the campsite, all saying goodbye to those that stayed back. This could have been the last time that those parents heard those words from their kids, but how would we know that?

Most of the kids are around 13 years old while the others are just around 8 like me. The so-called camping isn’t quite what you might imagine, as it is very connected to life back home. But being in the outdoors is what counts. For us city people, it is all you can ask for. This was on the second day of the camping trip, when we decided to make the 2-mile trek through the forest to the waterfall to swim as a way to get a break from the extreme temperatures. A couple of the parents didn’t come with us because it was “too far”, but we still decided to go. My two parents along with five other children and I set off from the campsite, all saying goodbye to those that stayed back. This could have been the last time that those parents heard those words from their kids, but how would we know that?

A crack that sounds like a firecracker, louder than ever, is heard above as we are encapsulated by the Olympic trees that are hundreds of feet tall. Everybody stands still and looks around. “It's the feds,” the slightly immature teenage boy says. As my eyes shift up to see the canopy of trees, reality sets in; this could be my last two seconds on earth. A 60-foot top of douglas-fir is barrelling down towards us at a rate that can’t be imagined. My dad being the one in the middle, yells “run,” and pushes people out of the path of the falling tree. In reality, it has been two seconds, but it feels like two minutes. I look forward, and notice that the tree caused a rift in our group, 4 people stand ahead of the tree and 4 people behind, including me. The girthy 8-foot wide tree has bark thicker than a textbook, but something shocks me. My mom’s hat, squashed like a fly that was smacked with a flyswatter, lies under the tree, and my heart skips a beat as I look up to find her. Thankfully, she is 10 feet down the path and safe with the other people in our group. Nia, the youngest, starts bawling , her cries echoing through the dense forest. Somehow, after such an intense moment, no one says a word because the adrenaline is still surging through our veins.

Returning back to the campsite, there is a sense of shock along with gratefulness. As the story is told, the parents that did not come along with us rush to their beloved kids and give them a long hug. Some of them even shed a tear. After that, each time we say goodbye, the hugs have gotten a little tighter, and every “I love you,” has gotten more frequent, knowing that the next day is never guaranteed.