It's a Metaphysical World

The Bridge
Insight:
Trust your dreams.

One year as my husband and I sat captive in our seats on yet another long trans-Pacific flight, I became fascinated as I listened in to his conversation with the man sitting next to him. He told us he was going skiing in Canada. He and his wife had planned this trip together, and now that she was dead, he just knew that he had to complete their dream trip alone in memory of her.
I found this heartbreaking to listen to. He was a nice man, middle aged and fit, and obviously still in deep mourning. I leaned over and asked him how she died, and the story he began to relate was so interesting that I swapped seats with my husband and drew closer to hear and absorb every detail.
His wife and he were skilled trampers. It was a hobby of theirs, and they had been doing it for years. They knew the ins and outs of rugged climbing and spring run-offs. They had planned to walk one of the more remote tracks in the South Island of New Zealand. It’s one that only experienced bush-hikers would attempt, and it takes days to complete.
Some months prior to their trip, his wife seemed to develop an attack of conscience. Her husband noted that she was mending fences with anyone and everyone with whom she had ever fallen out, going right back to her schooldays. No argument was left hanging. She seemed to be on a personal and very driven make-it-right campaign. He noted this without paying too much attention. It was after all her personal business, and she was resolving things in her own way. However, he did find it curious. She had suddenly become forgiving and prepared to take her share of the blame where she had not been so inclined in the past.
Eventually it was time to go. They donned their packs and set off. From what I remember, they were into about their second day on the trail when they found themselves at the edge of a shallow, but wide, mountain stream. It was a typical New Zealand stream with a stony bottom. Their plan was to cross the river and pick up the track on the other side.
He said that there were others on the trail that day, not travelling with them, but not too far away and certainly within hailing distance. So that effectively they were in their own private world, but with the comfort of knowing they were not alone in this remote and wildly beautiful region.
His wife started across the stream first and he was some distance behind her. As she stepped further into the waterway, there was a sudden and unexpected surge of water which, in his words, turned the small riverbed stones into marbles under their feet—rolling and churning and making it impossible to stand. They were both thrown off their feet. It was a spring surge of run-off waters from the mountains. These occur without warning and they’re deadly.
He regained his balance and immediately backtracked to shore. His wife did what you’re supposed to do, and what she was trained to do. She lifted her feet off the ground and rolled towards what she thought was the water’s edge, except that she was disoriented and so rolled the wrong way and into the centre of the tumultuous waters. He watched in horror as she was swept downriver in a surge of water. He ran down the bank screaming and trying to grab at her, as did others along her path, but she was moving too fast and was too far off shore. No one could reach her, and she was gone.
The police were called. There was probably a radiophone at a rest-shack and someone called out the search team. They apparently hunted for her for days, but she did not turn up. There was a waterfall further downstream, and it was presumed that she went over it. The team searched the depths at the base of the waterfall but she was nowhere to be found.
Of course, there was a police investigation. It always looks a bit suspicious when the wife of a husband and wife tramping team ends up dead, and especially one with her training and experience, but as luck would have it, her accident had been witnessed by a number of people, and so thankfully, the investigation was short, and her husband could return home to mourn her death.
When he arrived back, he was met by his daughter. She was inconsolable. She was not only grieving, but also guilt-ridden. Prior to the trek, his daughter dreamed that both her parents would leave but only one would return. Her dream didn’t show her which one would survive, and at the time, she didn’t know what to do with the information. She was uncertain whether to warn her parents or to ignore her dream. In the end, she decided not to say anything, as her dreams were not usually prophetic, and there was no reason to believe that this one would be any different. However, since the accident she had been overwhelmed with feelings of “could have; should have.”
Her father reassured her. He told her he would have done the same thing. Anyone would. Nightmares are usually just that, and even if she had told them, it is likely they would have shrugged off the information.
After returning home, the husband was traumatised and grieving. He could not work. He was distraught that he had not given his wife a proper burial, and thoughts of her water-tossed and battered body haunted him.
Then one night, approximately a week after his return, he had a dream. He saw the stream where she had fallen. He saw the waterfall. He saw the river tributaries, and then he saw his wife. She showed him exactly where to find her, and he trusted his dream. He immediately phoned the police, and returned to the South Island. At first, the police were sceptical but they were persuaded to accompany him. They re-hiked the trail and followed the pathways he had dreamed about.
They found her face up in the water, peacefully floating in a little backwater pool. The water surge had taken her kilometres downstream on an unexpected watercourse. Incredibly, her face was not traumatised. It was beatific and smiling. This is not the way that bodies normally appear after a lengthy time in the water. The search team were so affected by the sight of her that one year later, they returned to the site where she fell in and hand built a bridge in her honour. They felt there was something miraculous about this whole thing. And so there is.
When he met us, the husband was still grieving, but he had an agenda. He told me that he was going to complete all the plans that he and his wife had made together. He had to; he felt driven. He didn’t know why, he just knew this was something that she wanted him to do. So, he never returned to his job; instead, he followed his heart.
I never saw him again, and this many years later, I don’t even recall his name, but neither my husband nor I have ever forgotten his story.