Haunted

I have always felt a deep connection to the land and elements of the outdoors. I suppose it comes in part from the way I was raised. I grew up on a working alfalfa farm in the highlands of the great American Southwest. As a farmboy I learned to be in tune with the weather, the earth, and all living things. Maybe that sounds a tad on the New Age side, but it really was a product of my way of life in those early formative years.

At times though, I think it's deeper than a learned behavior. When I recently returned to the beaches of California where I was born, I was taken aback by the deep seated feeling of belonging that washed over me, like the beautiful waves of the mighty Pacific rolling up on the beach. I wasn't prepared for the strength of that feeling, especially considering I really have no connection to the area anymore. We moved when I was 5 years old, and I have always considered the state where I grew up to be my "home".

Living in this vast urban jungle, where my metroplex alone has more than 5 times the population of the entire state where I grew up, I think some of that connection has been dulled and muted. There is one time of year that these feelings surface however. During the tempestous Spring weather of this area, the tortured, angry clouds roiling in the fitful heat of April and May stir my soul to life. My eyes are drawn ever heavenward, and the low rumble of distant thunder beats through my breast like some extra-corporeal heartbeat.

It's for this reason that I'm an avid fan of the Discovery Channel show called Stormchasers. If you've never seen it, it chronicles the exploits of various scientists, videographers, and meteorologists as they chase severe storms during the severe weather season. If you haven't seen it, you should check it out on Wednesday nights.

This last week's episode was an amazing display of tenacity and planning, and an exercise in adrenaline-pumping, heart-fibrillating intense action as one crew positioned themselves for a direct hit by a large and strong tornado. They were in a purpose-built protective vehicle fitted with IMAX capable cameras, and it was an amazing spectacle. It was the culmination of years of hard work and several hundred thousand dollars investment. This pinnacle of success rested largely on the shoulders of one of my favorite cast members of the show, meteorologist Matt Hughes. It literally brought tears to my eyes in respect for his amazing achievement. The comraderie and the sense of brotherhood swelled from the TV screen and surrounded my soul, buoying me upwards. I was better for having lived it through their experiences.

It was a beautiful episode.

And it utterly destroyed me.

You see, the show was dedicated to Matt Hughes. Posthumously.

It was only a few short days after the filming of the footage for this episode that Matt Hughes injured himself in a suicide attempt. About a week later his injuries proved fatal, and he passed away. He leaves behind two young sons and a wife.

Matt battled valiantly against depression, and in the end his tortured demons stole away his will to live.

This strikes so deeply a chord within me as now I've finally given name to the winged fiends that torment my heart and mind; and their names are depression, self-doubt, and shame. I know the battle that raged within Matt, and it steals the breath from my chest to learn of the loss of a brother in arms. I've never met the man, and yet it just plain hurts.

So Matt, may the wings of the storm winds bear you up and carry you to place of peace. Know that though your will to live was struck down, you have not been conquered. Your grace and laughter lives ever on in the memories you've left behind. You've created a legacy borne of love and eternity that never will die; even as the sound of your name rings on in the silence.

As to the demons that so tortured you, I think Milton says it best, "So spake the Cherub; and his grave rebuke, Severe in youthful beauty, added grace Invincible. Abashed the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined His loss."

Be free my brother.