View from Mitchell Point

We are climbing.

Up and up and up.

There is a woman on the path, leaning on a stick.

It's steeper than I thought it would be, she says. 
Harder than what the ranger said.
And up ahead, there are rocks.
I fell.
I can't do it.
I thought I could, but I can't.
I had back surgery. I don't have the core strength anymore.
If I'm still here when you come back, you might have to call someone to help me down.

We keep walking until we get to the rocks. It is steep, but not too steep for us. 
But the woman below? We worry about her and we head back down. 
We never saw the view from Mitchell Point.

We don't get too far before we see her, leaning on two rotting sticks. My husband walks on ahead and I walk with her.

It wasn't just back surgery, she says.
It's cancer.
My doctor phoned the morning before I left.
He said it was terminal.
He said I needed more surgery.
I told him no.
The mountains were calling.

She had been driving across the country.
The Grand Canyon.
Bryce Canyon.
The Delicate Arch.
Oregon.
Washington.
The west coast.
She was sleeping in her van.
She had so much more to see.

Mother Nature was healing her.