This weekend last year, I was hosting a big brunch for my friends. We were frying bacon, drinking Mimosas, making new friends, stuffing our bellies, staying warm inside while it was getting stormy outside.
This weekend last year, after my friends had gone home and brunch was all cleaned up, I read a Facebook status update that changed my life. Anth’s brother Steve asked us to pray for his brother who was missing on Mt. Hood. My heart sank at that moment and stayed in anguish all day as I waited to hear any news of Anthony’s status. I read every blog and news brief I could online but only found the same story being reproduced and changed slightly each time. I didn’t know what was true and what was just being throw out there for media attention.
Later that night, I got a call from one of the pastors at Imago who I knew pretty well. He said that his wife had seen my FB status from earlier that day repeating what Steve had posted. I wasn’t sure if the pastor was just calling to check in on me, but I soon found out that the reason he called was to tell me that the Search & Rescue team had found a man’s body on the mountain. Imagine the classic scene when a woman gets a knock on her door from a man in uniform and hands her the letter that says her husband was killed his battle. She and I had a very similar reaction. I collapsed on the kitchen floor and just screamed and cried. I went prostrate and pounded my fists to the ground and just screamed out, “No, no no!!” I called my mom to tell her, and when I caught my breath, I just knew that it wasn’t Anthony’s body they found. I just knew it. The pastor called back some time later and told me that in fact, it wasn’t Anthony’s body they found; it was Luke’s.
The next morning, I went up to Timberline with Katie’s sister-in-law and two other pastors from Imago and there I stayed for 5 days. I tried to keep a written update of what was going on and how I was feeling at the time. I think I’m ready to share it with you…a year later:
There are simply no words that can describe what this is like. There is not even a soundtrack I have been comforted by in the last few days. The reason for my writing is manifold: I want a release, I want to process, I want to share, and I don’t want this to be forgotten so quickly. I have been updating my status, sending out texts, and calling people multiple times a day for the past 5 days and it scares me to think that the status updates and news headlines will so soon forget the life and tragedy of my dear friend Anthony Robert Vietti.
How could he ever be forgotten? How?
I don’t yet have a road map of what this journey, this grieving process will look like. All I know is that when I lay there feeling lifeless and void, the Lord is with me breathing life back into me and reminding me that He is my source and my sustainer. He has invited me to come into his presence and be held by him. “The enemy steals, kills, and destroys, but I have come that you may have life, and life to the full.” John 10:10
Sunday and Monday were filled with a lot of waiting, sitting, staring. We got updates from the Sheriff’s department and the Search & Rescue crews. We prayed for the clouds to part and the bad weather to be held off so they could get up there to search. God said yes to our prayers this time. The weather was perfect the whole day. We all knew that if Anth and Katie were going to walk off that mountain and through the doors, Sunday would be the day. But they didn’t come back to the lodge and the clouds came back that night along with a storm system that dumped a bunch of snow. That night in the hotel room, I had a hard time sleeping or feeling any comfort knowing that Anthony was out there, probably cold and scared and hurt. I’m glad I was able to be there though. Jon and LaDonna shared the room that Timberline provided for them so I was able to stay with everyone, offer my support, and be in the loop with the details.
On Tuesday, we viewed a slide show of that Reid Headwall where they suspected them to be. In just a few days, the snow had smooth over any jagged edge of rock and covered any footprints or markings that were there before. We all faced the reality that after today, the chance of then being found alive was only 5% or so. Tomorrow, the rescue efforts would change to recovery efforts.
After a long emotional day on Tuesday, I decided to give the families some time together and come home to Portland for the night then head back up to Timberline early the next morning. Not only did they need to time together with their youngest son, Steve, I also needed to have a trial run of what it would be like to be back in everyday life and away from the support of everyone who has been together up at Timberline where we were hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, and clinging to our Rock no matter what and knowing Him in deeper ways. (The silence of my empty house just set in.) I was able to spend some time with a close family of mine here in Portland and let him help me ease back in and let the emotions come as they may. The hardest part of coming home was the notion that being farther away from the mountain means that perhaps Anthony is farther away from me. As I pulled up to my house, tears of fear and anguish crept in. “How can my roommates hold my deep grief? What will it be like when I’m alone, up in my room, in the silence, left with only my thoughts and memories? Will I even be able to sleep? Will I have nightmares? Will it feel like I am being weighed down by 500 lbs of heaviness?” My friend encouraged me to pay attention to my body and what it needs to do. He suggested I say the things I’m thinking out loud, say the hard words…but I couldn’t do it. Not when the search is still in “active rescue.” Maybe tomorrow I’ll think about finding the strength to say those hard words. Thankfully, I was able to fall asleep in prayer, unlike the prior night, and sleep until my alarm went off at 5:20am that next morning.
Wednesday morning, I met up with our saint of a Chaplain, Dennis Simons in Sandy and rode up to Timberline with him. He is a retired pastor who wears many hats in his community, but has a tender heart for the Lord, and from that, a tender heart for our grieving families. It was so helpful to be able to talk to someone who sits with families through the times of trial and grief and know that we have impacted his heart and life the way no other family has. He was a source of support and comfort for me because, although I was up there as a dear friend of Anthony, I was also up there offering my support to the Vietti’s. I didn’t know where to look myself for support, but that’s exactly why Dennis was up there with us. He helped me see that we were all up there carrying each others burdens and supporting each other.
Not much was going on during the morning when we arrived. The mood was set by the realization that today would be a day that a miracle would occur, or the day they would declare “recovery”; Anthony and Katie are no longer expected to be found alive. Steve had arrived the night before from Germany, so when I saw him in the morning, I was so glad to see him and hug him. He was so warm to me and even said, “I’m was hoping to see you up here.” My heart was heavy for him all day and drawn to prayer for him because not only were he and Anthony especially close as brothers, friends, and climbing partners, but also because he hadn’t had the time to process and be together like we had, and because he would have to go back across the world in a matter days.
(I don’t know if I can do this. Jesus, give me the grace to write this so I can remember when Anthony is farther away.)
All the days up at Timberline are blending together but I do remember Wednesday and the feelings that came with all the news. Sometime mid-morning, the search team came up to update us on what today would look like and what to expect. By early afternoon, “recovery” was certain and at that point, a press conference would be held to announce that to the media. Jon and David (Anthony and Katie’s dads) addressed us and informed us that this is our short but distinct window of opportunity to declare a certain message: that it was not the mountain that got Katie and Anthony out of bed each morning, it was Christ. The mountain was just a way that they experienced the Lord and felt a closeness to Him. During the press conference, we all gathered in prayer for the two fathers as they gave witness to the testimonies of both Anthony and Katie, and their life in Christ. (Here’s the link: http://www.katu.com/home/video/79460132.html) As we sat by the two Christmas trees in the room facing the mountain, I remembered Jesus, the babe in the straw, who was to be called Emanuel, GOD WITH US. I prayed that so fervently over all of us. God with us. God among us. God our comforter. God our sustainer. God our Rock. God our Hope. We prayed through the entire conference and rushed over to the next room when Jon and David returned with the Search & Rescue team.
We all knew exactly what they were going to tell us, but the next couple hours were especially hard for me. Although I knew deep in my heart that Anthony and Katie wouldn’t be coming through those doors ever again, I guess I did still put a little hope in knowing that the search team was still looking. Once they finally announced that the search is finally in recovery, the depths of my being sank and the tears heavily rolled down my face. Once the Search & Rescue team left, I stood at the south facing window, looking away from Hood, but barely being able to see anything because of the heavy tears in my eyes. I felt someone approach me to bring solace and comfort. I looked up and saw Jon coming near to give me a hug. He let me cry and held me up in my anguish. He whispered affirmations to me and told me how much Anthony loved and cared for me and spoke so fondly of me. How beautiful was it that the man grieving the loss of his own son, the flesh of his flesh who he raised from birth and knew so intimately could bring such comfort to me, someone who had known Anthony for 8 out of his 25 years in a much different capacity than father/son. That moment at Timberline, hugging Jon will stand out to me as one of the most beautiful moments of grief and a clear example of carrying each others burdens and pain.
When we all started packing up, getting ready to leave the lodge and head to the Megumi Chalet for dinner and rest, I noticed a different feel in the air. Despite our deep sadness, there wasn’t a heaviness in the room. There was a lightness to all of us. There was even some laughter. When we got to the Megumi Chalet and met Jean, the wonderful lady who has the gift of hospitality, warmth, kindness, and compassion, we all dropped out weights, eat a beautiful meal, and sat around a laughed some more. There were moments when all of us laughed from deep in our bellies, doubled over, tears streaming down our cheeks. We needed that reprieve.
Last night when, Dennis dropped me off at my car at the Sandy Fire Department, my mood changed from laughter and the realness and reality of the loss sank in. I cried the entire way home and when I finally got there, I walked straight to my room, threw off my backpack, and fell lifeless on my bed and wept for a long time. At moments, it felt like there was no life in me, no emotions, just a blank stare. Then like a tidal wave, Anthony’s face would flash across my mind and the sobbing and crying out to the Lord would take over. I talked to Anth for a long time last night, just filling in him on my life. It felt like he was talking to me too. I tried to listen to what he would have said to me and that brought a lot of comfort. Just knowing that his voice is still in my memory. He was giving me advice, telling me to wait on the Lord and live for Him. He told me to take care of his Mom-zilla, the first love of his life. He told me to be the sister his brothers never had. To be the daugher his dad never had. He told me to love them and take care of them. He told me to remain close to his girlfriend Maija. He told me to wait and be patient for a godly man to come into my life and pursue me. I promised him that I would. Rachel and Deb came up to check on me and just laid there holding me and crying with me. I was calm at moments, but then suddenly I would let out terrible screams and shouts of “no, No, NOOOO! Please, no…”. God bless those girls for bearing that with me, putting me in my pj’s and tucking me into bed. I would have slept with my shoes on.
This morning, I woke up with the same thoughts that I feel asleep with. It made it feel like I didn’t sleep at all, like there is no reprieve even when I’m not conscious. That “train wreck” feeling everyone talks about was definitely there. Today, the tears come on more spontaneously and haven’t really left. The grief has only just begun to set in but I pray against any sort of darkness accompanying the sadness. You can pray that too.
Anthony’s memorial brought a lot of healing to my heart. The sense of peace that I felt while the service was going on and especially after was overwhelming, but at the same time, I had to take a step or two back and have someone else point it out to fully grasp the extent of it. The service was exactly what Anthony would have wanted it to be: a time to worship and exalting the Lord. And the Lord certainly was exalted, not only through the hearts that were turned to worship him that night, but also because He received glory and honor because of Anthony’s commitment and close walk with Him. The entire day was filled with anxiousness and heaviness and tension. My shoulders felt like the stone rock faces that Anthony always climbed. I couldn’t stay at work a second longer, so at 3:00 I left and headed up to Longview to just be there before the service started. On my drive up, I prayed that my heart would feel what it needed to feel. I hadn’t felt much as far as teary emotions go and I didn’t want to be that girl that didn’t shed a tear at her best friend’s funeral. So I prayed that the Lord would be near to my heart and let my emotions do their thing. There were moments during that drive that I started to feel the high-pressure steam seep out through the small crack in the seal but the next second the steam would settle down and I would feel like all the water was sucked up dry. “Lord, please. I just want to feel through this. I just want to feel. I don’t want to be numb and absent and void. I want my heart to be engaged and honor Anthony in that way.” All I could do was pray for that because we all know that controlling our emotions is next to impossible. At least for me.
I arrived at Chris and Mel’s house around 4:15 and joined the family that I had drawn that much closer to in the past week. LaDonna greeted me at the door and we quickly got on the same page: mostly numb with knots in our stomachs. Phew, I’m glad I wasn’t the only one. We giggled as we both realized that what we never thought would happen was about to happen. I saw some unfamiliar faces around the dining room table in the living room so LaDonna introduced me. “Ron, this is Mari, our adopted daughter.” She kept on referring to me as her adopted daughter…and I loved that. There was a tension in the room, though. It didn’t take long to figure out what that tension spurred from: they had taken turns to go into Anthony’s room and look through some things and just take it all in. When I arrived, Steve was in there and I could only imagine (though it wasn’t hard to do so) what his emotions were doing to him in there. I know we’re not supposed to idolize material things, but Anthony didn’t just have material things. Everything he had and kept was meaningful and sentimental. Like the birthday card Steve gave him a couple years ago that Steve stumbled across in a box of special items. Those are the kinds of things that help us hold Anthony close now that we can’t actually hold him at all. He is close though isn’t he? Like I said before, my heart has been heavy for Steve since the moment I read his status update informing everyone of Anthony’s situation on Mt. Hood. And the thought of me being able to go in Anthony’s room and take it all in breaks my heart a little bit. Or a lot.
At this point, I’ve been at Chris and Mel’s for a half hour or so when my mom calls. She and my dad got down to Longview much sooner than they thought but my brother wasn’t going to make it. Of course I was bummed because I really wanted my brother to see how Jesus had impacted Anthony and how alive He really is. I put on my coat, Steve walked me out the door, and I make my way down to the local Red Lobster to meet up with mom and dad. And I know that whenever I see my mom when I’m at all emotion, I lose it. Although I didn’t lose it when I saw her, my emotions did get tense. I teared up quite a few times during dinner because I couldn’t believe that I was about to go to my best friends funeral. I should be going to his wedding one day! Not his funeral!
(Though my heart is torn, I will praise You in the storm. Praise you in the storm.)
Arriving at the church, and walking into the sanctuary where the band was still practicing their worship set was like walking through a wave of sadness…that’s the best way to describe it. It was becoming real. It was happening. Anthony’s memorial was about to take place which meant that he was actually gone, and that once it was over, he would only get farther and farther away. There was no holding on to him. I put my purse down and found seats for my parents and turned to them and said, “I’m not ready for this” with a quiver in my lip, a whisper in my voice, and tears welling up in my eyes. I kept on saying, “all bets are off once the service starts” meaning that who knows what my emotions would do. All I knew is that the tears were pushing so hard against my eyes that every ounce of saline in my body was about to flow freely down my cheeks. While people started showing up, I introduced my mom and dad to Jon and LaDonna which I was so pleased to get to do. I had this strange feeling of ownership of them. Ownership in a good way. Like Jon and LaDonna were important to me, and I was important to them, and I could steal them away for a sec and introduce them to some very important people. I loved that.
Enough about these details. It’s getting late but I want to talk about how amazing and worshipful the service was and how it brought such healing to me. Dan Nordstrom (who I have grown to absolutely love) emceed the service and we got started with an amazing worship set. We sang, “Praise You in the Storm” and “Hosanna” which I thought were perfect. I was able to lift my hands in worship and truly say, “Lord, I will praise YOU in this storm because that’s what Anthony would have wanted. All glory be to Jesus.” And it brought joy to my heart knowing that my mom and dad, who are only really familiar with a liturgical style of church, could see that worshipping Jesus is vibrant and ALIVE. Jesus is ALIVE! And they could get a better glimpse into what I’m about as a Christ-follower. “Though my heart is torn, I will praise You in the storm. I will raise my arms and praise the God who gives and takes away.”
The slideshow is the part that I knew would have everyone in tears in remembrance of all the times we shared with him and all his funny faces, quirky traits, and crazy adventures. “You’re Beautiful” by Phil Wickham accompanied the videos and photos that captured the heart of our dear friend, brother, son, cousin, roommate, boyfriend, youth group leader, Christ follower, Anthony. “When we arrive at eternity’s shore, where death is just a memory and tears are no more, we’ll enter in as the wedding bells ring, your bride will come together and we’ll sing, “you’re beautiful.” Of course the tears flowed but I’ll admit that I did encourage/force them to come. I needed to feel that release. I still need to feel that release. But the thought of Anthony singing together with the most beautiful chorus singing praises to our God and King, our author, sustainer, pursuer, warrior, protector, redeemer, refuge, lover, it all seemed so fitting. I have no doubt that he is singing right now. As Jon said during his moments of reflection, “Anthony is more alive now than he ever was on earth.” AMEN and AMEN!
(Lord, give me the strength to keep writing tonight, or the grace to remember tomorrow or whenever I get a chance to write again.)Then the time of sharing began. It didn’t surprise me that the mic was occupied for over an hour with a constant flow of people who wanted to give us a piece of the Anthony they knew. The beautiful thing is that Anthony was the same guy to everyone. His character was consistent to everyone he knew. Some people shared funny stories, some people choked their way through their words, and still others shared eloquently and poised. I stood up and shared some words about Anthony. I remembered that he taught me how to 1,2, cha cha cha in my parents living room when we were up visiting them for a weekend. I said that Anthony was the kind of person who shared what he loved. He shared his passion for the outdoors, he shared his zeal for life, he shared his family with me. I have gained so much through my friendship with Anthony and that impression and mark will last for decades to come.
After the service, Kathy Simmons, Dennis the Chaplain’s wife, came up to me and hugged me and said, “that was really healing for you, wasn’t it?” I’m glad she pointed that out, because yes, his memorial service was very healing for me. It was perfect for Anthony and I know that he would have wanted to be there worshipping(I know that sounds totally weird to say that)! Anthony’s memorial was #2 of 3. Luke’s was the day before and Katie’s was the night after. They were all so different, but all so perfectly fit to each of their personalities. I can’t help but wonder what my memorial will be like. But I won’t think on that too hard.
So it’s been a year. It’s been a hard year. It’s been a refining year. A lot has changed. A lot has been lost. I disappeared for a while, I cried a lot, I hid from Facebook for 6 months, I didn’t return phone calls, and faced the grief head on. Despite the loss, a lot has been gained and we’re all still moving forward but not forgetting Anthony.
