Big Climb

The overblown, schmaltzy strains of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” filled my ears as I stepped through the doors of the 73rd floor of the Columbia Center in downtown Seattle. I had just climbed 1,311 stairs — 69 floors — in Seattle’s tallest building to help raise awareness and money (by the way, you still have time to donate) for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, but I didn’t feel like much of a champion. The first 60 floors of the Big Climb were pretty easy as I kept a steady, gentle pace floor after floor. But when the bracelet Maria gave me the day of Celia’s funeral snapped in half after catching on my pocket, I just wanted to be done, so I raced up the last nine floors. I was a sweaty, breathless mess by the time I got to the top, and I had awhile to wait while Meg caught up with me. Thinking time.

I probably never would have thought of participating in the Big Climb if my sister Celia hadn’t died of leukemia almost a year ago. If you’ve read my previous posts, you know that there’s a bit of hero worship going on when I talk about her. Celia was a terrific person, the kind of sister anyone would love to have. I did the Big Climb in her memory. But I felt more of a sense of loss than accomplishment at the top of the 1,311 stairs I climbed in the Columbia Center. I felt like Celia should have been climbing with me, but we’ll never have that chance. I was glad to see posters of leukemia and lymphoma survivors posted on many of the floors in the Columbia stair well, but I couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. Why didn’t my sister make it? Why was her poster “in memory of” rather than “in honor of”?

Supposedly time heals all wounds, but this one feels as raw as it did that day last May when my dad told us Darren was going to take Celia off the ventilator because she had a blood clot in her brain and the doctors couldn’t detect any brain function. That day I thought there was still time for a miracle — but the one I wanted didn’t happen. God took my sister without asking my permission or anyone else’s. I still can’t think of a good reason why. But I firmly believe that Celia is still being her wonderful self and helping others find more purpose in their existence.

Climbing the Columbia tower was hard, especially because I hadn’t done any training for it. I had thought about climbing the stairs on the Fremont side of Queen Anne hill — 15-20 times up the 80 stairs should have been decent training — but I let general grad school busyness get in the way. Even with my flabby, untrained legs, I would do back-to-back Big Climbs every day for the rest of my life if it would bring my sister back. It won’t. But I’ll try to keep climbing. Maybe one day I’ll be strong enough and make it high enough to get to where Celia is.