The Trail
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My name is Marlon. Today's August 11th. On March 20th, my dad was in a

very severe cycling accident that he never recovered from. And on April 13th, he died in hospice. And on April 25th, I started hiking the Continental Divide Trail. My mom sent me a little film canister with some of his ashes when she sent me a box of food and new shoes. So pretty much since mile 300 or so of this trail,

I've been carrying about a tablespoon of my dad's ashes. And my mom told me to spread them somewhere, somewhere beautiful or important on the trail. And I haven't been able to do that yet. I don't know if I don't want to let it go. On August 1st, 2022, Marlon emailed our show and told us that while he was hiking through the U.S., he was also hiking through the first months of grieving his father.

So we told him to start recording himself. And we did this because we are podcasters and also because the first year of grief is so disorienting. Once you're through it, it can be hard to remember. And I kept journals. I kept notebooks. I kept a Google calendar. And when I look back at any of these things, it confirms that, yeah, that was a rough time.

There are first birthdays, first holidays, first anniversaries, but that first year, everything is a first. I remember a moment after Aaron died when I realized that I was buckling an airplane seatbelt for the first time without him. Not for the first time without him present, I'd been on airplanes without him, but buckling it for the first time

without Aaron as a part of my world, as a part of this world. Everything that first year is a first, and then everything is just how it is. When Marlon emailed us, it was his very first August 1st without his father. The next day would be his first August 2nd without his father. Every step he took on that trail was a first. Every word he said, every poem he read.

Every night he went to sleep. People love to describe grief as a journey, to describe sickness as a journey, to describe life itself as a journey. And I always say, look, unless you're about to embark on foot like the hobbit himself for many, many miles, is it a journey? Actually, but it is. What is trite is often true.

And for Marlon, that journey is not just emotional and spiritual. It's also very physical. It's 3,000 miles from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. Marlon is doing a through hike, which means that he's taking on a very, very long trail in its entirety and in a single trip. There are three major through hikes in the U.S. The Pacific Crest Trail, which runs along the West Coast and South

I think is possibly most famously known for being the journey that Cheryl Strayed took in her book Wild. There's the Appalachian Trail on the East Coast, and then there is the Continental Divide, which is where Marlon is when he first reached out to us. If he finishes the Continental Divide, he'll achieve what's called the Triple Crown. This is his goal. On today's episode, we're going to take you on two trails.

that hike with Marlon, and the first year of Marlon's life without his father, Murray. You're going to hear the tape as we got it, the thoughts as Marlon had them, the way grief is. He sent us voice memos where he recorded whatever was in his head that day. Sometimes it was about grief and his dad. Sometimes it was about the trail. I'm Nora McInerney, and you're listening to Terrible Thanks for Asking, The Trail. It's September 1st.

So when my dad finally died about three weeks after his accident, I had made the decision with my family that I was going to continue hiking or go on my hike. And I just remember people would say like, oh, that's so good, that's so healthy. You know, it's a great way to heal or, you know, it's a, you know,

it's what your father would have wanted um and the reality is like I wanted to do that like the last thing I wanted to do was you know deal with the fact that I just lost my father and like helping my mother settle estates and figure that out and plan memorial services and shit and

I mean, for my whole family, it was a reason for us to all take time and not deal with all of the stresses of that right away. But, you know, what my father would have wanted? No, that's just... I just don't feel like that's it. You know, what my father would have wanted was to live the rest of his days in Miami. Like, his favorite place, living in the same house that he lived in forever and...

blah blah blah and you know what's like the reality is that's what he got he got to leave this world on a very normal day he woke up in his home in miami and got on his bike and had plans to help a neighbor do something that day and that's like that's exactly what he got he got to leave this world doing exactly what he wanted august 11th marlon tells us about how his dad died

Murray woke up one morning in March, went on his usual bike ride, and then something happened. Nobody saw what happened. But Murray ended up at a hospital, unconscious with a head injury, and was put in a medically induced coma. He was admitted under the wrong name, which meant that it took a while for the family to find him. And then for a few weeks, the family was just in logistical hospital silence.

I couldn't really tell you what happened on what day, but I just remember every day was like there was a mission. There was something we had to do, like whether it was, you know, we have to get his DNR and we have to get that to the hospital. And like normally you think like, oh, he's got a DNR here. I just hand it and they put it in his chart. Well, now like.

It took us, I want to say, like, a day and a half to get his DNR filed and registered because his DNR is not what the hospital will file it, but they won't use that. Specifically, like, they need to have a whole nother sheet that's theirs that they print off. And my mom's confused about, like, why it says these certain things. And so every day was just a mission. And, like, the simplest task of, you know...

honestly just filing a DNR would take, you know, 24 to 36 hours for us to go through all the right channels. Like getting his phone back, which should have been a no brainer. It took us like four days just to like get the charge nurse to talk to security, to get them to open the vault where they keep personal belongings. Um, and it was all because like,

You know, they admitted him as Murray Hicks instead of Murray Sill. And so they needed proof that he was who we said he was and that we were actually his family. And then they totally believed us, but they just had to dot all the I's and cross all the T's. And, like, there was a surprising amount of, like, bullshit that had to happen for just, like, the simplest things. And meanwhile, like, my dad's sitting there, you know, wiggling his...

his feet and his legs every now and then. And I'm 33 years old. You could call me a grown man, but like, I feel like I'm sitting there and I'm a child. Like I'm a child trying to figure out what's best for my dad. We're sitting there in the hospital and the brain surgeon comes in and he, you know, we're talking and he mentions all the tests that they've done. And it's just a matter of being patient and that two weeks is like a good time to give him

from the time of the accident to see improvement. And I, you know, emergency medicine, very limited information on like what happens in hospitals. But I remember looking at him and saying, so what does the EEG say? The EEG comes back and I don't know how you score these things, but his score was brain dead. August 29th. I just saw my third bear of the day.

The first two were this morning. They're a couple young grizzlies, which is really exciting. We both scared the absolute bejesus out of each other. Hey bear! And then just now I saw a tiny little black bear cub. He was so cute. But as you might know, cubs means mama somewhere by. Hey bear!

And which is why I'm yelling, hey bear, and freaking out a little bit because it's almost eight o'clock in the evening. Still plenty of light out, but you know, good to talk to myself out loud. That way anything that's nearby will hear me. Got my bear spray out, safety off. I'm ready to fuck up a bear or myself with pepper spray if at all necessary.

Today is August 6th, 2022. I hid my dad. I would have turned 69 today. As you can hear, it's raining. And it's been raining since sometime last night. I woke up and it was raining. I'm a cold, wet mess. Pretty much within 10 minutes of walking this morning, the mud was so bad it caked onto the bottom of my shoes like an inch thick and I had to stop every...

100 feet to kick and scrape off the mud on there for fear of breaking my ankles on some high heel mud of doom situation. To your dad, happy 69th birthday. I'm sure you would have gotten a kick out of that number with some joke or something. You would have smiled or grinned or the corner of your mouth would have poked up under that mustache of yours.

It's the kind of weather you always hated today on trail. It's rainy and cold and misty and somehow it's fitting that you miss this day and that I miss you. And as miserable as hiking in the rain and the cold is, it's not as miserable as you not being here. I love you dad. Happy birthday. Today is September 5th. It's day 134.

But yesterday on September 4th, I completed my through hike of the Continental Divide Trail. Um, I touched the terminus at the border of Canada and Montana in Glacier National Park. Had a little celebration, some champagne, well actually kava and brute, but that's fine. Who's counting? Um, yeah. And so I've spent today hiking back from the border, um, into Glacier to Trailhead, um,

And I don't know. I don't feel that same sense of accomplishment I had when I hiked the PCT or even really the AT. Like I did it. I did my triple crown. I hiked them. And maybe it just hasn't hit me yet. But I thought I'd be a little more emotional than I am or even was. I don't know. I think we tend to ascribe meaning to these big accomplishments. And in the end, like, I don't know what...

What did it go to prove? Like I knew I could do this. So doing it was really just providing the evidence to the fact that I am a badass. But I don't know. I don't feel that different. I don't feel like I have any grand realizations or momentous emotions. In the end, my dad is still dead. And finishing this trail means I get to go spend time with my mom and family. And it's all fucked.

It's all fucked. It doesn't matter what you do or how you do it or what book you read or who tells you to do what thing to help. Like none of it. It's just kind of like you're listening with numb ears. You just nod your head and, you know, feign the fact that you're listening and hope that they'll just shut up and stop talking at some point. But I finished the trail. That's what I was going to do either way. That's what I did anyway.

2500 miles for this one. It's not every mile that's available, but it's every mile I was gonna hike. So, yeah. That's what I did. And honestly, anyone who says, "Oh, that's not the whole thing," or, you know, "It's way longer than that," or, "You took alternates," or, like, whatever bullshit you're sitting on your couch, okay? No one gives a shit what you think.

Do you think you could do it better? Why don't you pick up the football and start playing for the Steelers, huh? I don't even know sports, but fuck you. Don't sit on your couch and judge me. Until you've hiked 7,300 miles in my shoes, you don't have any right to tell me what I did was any less than greatness. Or that I'm selfish or greedy or doing it wrong.

This is my process. I can give a shit what anybody else thinks about how I do it. So, yeah. If you don't like how I hike, you don't like how I handle loss and grief, I have two words for you. Get fucked. We'll be right back. ♪

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We're back. Marlon finished hiking the Continental Divide Trail on September 4th. He'd been on the trail for 134 days, processing his grief and achieving this huge goal of his. He finished the Triple Crown. It's been seven months since his dad died, but the family had held off on a funeral and some of the other big grief admin stuff until Marlon could be back home to do it with them.

So now he's back home in Miami, and it's time to get down to the business of grief. The family planned a memorial for November 6th, and Marlon invited us to attend. I would have loved to attend. I was raised Catholic, so I do appreciate a funeral. But Marcel and I were on tour, and instead of us attending, our producer Claire McInerney hopped on a plane and went to Florida to attend a funeral for a stranger.

Claire was also raised Catholic, and she picks up the story from here. I landed in Miami Saturday morning, the day before Murray's funeral. I met Marlon at his family's house, where he had been all week. This is the house he grew up in, and after Murray died, his mom decided to sell it. She'd been wanting to leave Miami for years, and when she sold the house, her plan was to stay with her sister until she figured out where she wanted to live next.

This week before the memorial was also the last week that they would own the house. I had been listening to Marlon's tape from the trail in the days leading up to this visit, so when I arrived, I feel like I already know him. And once I met him in person, he's just as open as he was talking into his phone. The family house is a small pink bungalow with really tall palm trees in the front yard towering over the small house.

It's in the middle of a neighborhood called Coconut Grove, which has huge old palm trees and lots of older homes. There are wild peacocks that roam the neighborhood, and I was warned to stay away from them. And this house was built, I think, in the 40s. And my mom bought, like...

i want to say back in the 80s it was either 78 or 81 or something like that yeah just over time it's like miami blew up like this area got really popular because it's like a small quaint neighborhood it's got old trees and things like that it's very tropical marlon and i sat in the backyard of the house it's fairly quiet back here even though the house is only 10 minutes from downtown miami

And it is a gorgeous, lush backyard filled with so many tropical plants that I've never seen. There's huge palm trees and fruit trees. There's also random chairs and tables that have clearly been back there for a long time. The rest of his family was inside getting ready for a dinner that they were hosting that night. And they were also pretty chill about a woman with a microphone roaming around.

I think if you didn't see the buildings necessarily, or at least the McMansion next door, you could think that we're sitting in Puerto Rico or Costa Rica at this point, or any...

tropical Caribbean location. But it's a very green backyard. There must be like a hundred different types of palm trees back here. We've got small cluster palms and larger carifas. We've got a mango tree and an avocado tree, both of which...

like have had some hurricane damage so they don't fruit quite as well as they used to and there's like pictures of us when we were kids like in front of these different palm trees like I want to say so this carifa was a lot smaller and so there's a picture of me when I'm like five or six years old standing in front of it and it's like a little baby carifa palm and then like

there's pictures of me like every five or 10 years, like as I grow, I take a picture in front of the palm. And so like, as the tree's growing, so am I. So how, do you have any emotions around the house and your mom selling the house? Um, not as much as I thought I would have. I kind of, you know, my mom has been jonesing to get out of Miami for a long time. And my dad was the one like really dragging his feet on it. And so, you know, I just kind of saw how that was sort of a strain in their relationship. Um,

And I mean, they bought the second house in Asheville probably like four or five years ago. And just before they did that, it was kind of this like, my mom had been retired for a while and ready to get out. My dad wasn't really ready to leave. And I was like, I kind of told my dad, like, you really just buy something in Asheville. So she at least has somewhere to get away to. Like, let's like take some of that stress off the relationship. And I think that helped for a while. But like my mom just hated like having to come back here every time and

deal with it. And it's like, it's an old house. Like my parents were very, like very middle class. So like they could afford to build an addition or like fix things and, um, take care of their kids. But it wasn't like, you know, it's not like they could get it and renovate it to the point where it would be like a real house that wouldn't have problems all the time. I think before, before my dad got hurt, my mom was happy to like settle for the best offer and just kiss the property goodbye and not care what happened. Um,

And once the accident happened, there seemed to be a bit more sentimentality to the sale. So like the people we found to buy the house are like, they like the trees and they're going to gut and renovate it, but they're keeping up like the structure and they're going to add some more to it. I don't know. Are you having like these thoughts of like, Oh, this is the last time I'll sleep here. This is the last time I'll come home to mom here. And how does that feel? Honestly, it's just been a pain in the ass. Like I don't,

I really just don't feel the sentiment around the house that I thought I would. And I think a lot of that is the frustration of like how much stuff and then like also like trying to like manage my mother, which I think I spoke a lot about at one point. But it's just like what like she's never used to frustrate me and now I'm like frustrated by little things. And so like the whole emotion behind this house right now is like a chore.

And my dad had like, he had millions of photographs. Like all we've been doing all week is like talking my mom off a ledge because everything you opened had like boxes of photos or negatives or whatever. And then we had to like sort through, like if it has any family members, we have to take that because it can't go in the estate sale. And if it has anything to do with his professional career, then we have to like, we're sending that with somebody from the historical society to catalog.

Marlon's dad was a photojournalist in his 20s and 30s and worked for the Miami Herald. He covered a lot of news in Miami and Central America. So you're sorting the photographs? Yes. My mom more so than I am. I like open an album, pick one photo, and then make a decision based on that. And sometimes the decision's wrong, but I don't care. I would say like more than half of the boxes in the pod are photographs. It's just like...

So much. Like, you look at the boxes and it says photos, and you can tell the photo, like, the ones we found later in the week because it just said more fucking photos on the box. And then we're like, I'm not even writing what's in them. I just, like, shove it in the pod and...

My mom can figure it out in six months. Did you know there were this many photos in the house? I think we all kind of had an inkling that there were photos, but like my dad just pack ratted away. Like we lifted up the mattress from my parents' bed and everything under a queen size mattress bed frame was photos like head to toe side to side. And that was like one of the last places we started to clean out. And we were just like, are you fucking kidding me? And then there's like binders, like one inch thick binders from like,

the entire width of the desk so that's like five feet and that was all like photos and negatives has your grief felt different being here like the last place he lived versus you've been like on the move for so many months thinking about him but now you're here did the familiarity bring up anything um i think more than anything it just kind of brought up frustration like i

just a lot of questions of like, why, why was all this necessary? Why did he consider these things treasured enough to like keep around? Cause it's like, it's not like he planned to like go on this ride and then dip out. It was just like, he was gone. And we were like, did you plan to leave all this shit for us to deal with? Like when you moved out of this house, were you taking all of it? So yeah, I think on the trail, it was more like thinking about like memories and here it's like the physical aspect of,

like dealing with these objects, which for my mom is like frustrating because there's things she wants and she's like emotionally connected to a lot of stuff. And for my sister, she's like trying to get me to empathize. And I'm like, I don't need to carry anything. Like I can, 25 pounds is like all I need. Marlon was not in a headspace to empathize. Earlier in the week before I arrived in Miami, I texted him a few questions I wanted him to respond to via voice memo. And he said,

I wanted to capture his feelings about helping his mom organize his dad's things and move out of the house while it was happening. The voice memo I received was titled, Empathize This, with the middle finger emoji. The logistics of having to manage my mother, like through this packing process and like keeping her focused and on task and like not deviating all the time, um,

It's been like, that's been very difficult. She was saying like, I only need this. I'm only going to take a few things. And it's just, everything is like another thing that's taking another thing that has to go another, another, a little bit more. And it's like, well, you know, I think her reality and mine were very mismatched on that. And yeah, that,

Like, I feel myself getting very angry a lot of the time. And I try to vent to it, to my sister about it. And she is not very good at listening. She's trying to play devil's advocate or trying to, like, make me empathize. And the reality is I don't want to empathize.

I want to vent about it because I'm not sitting there like screaming at my mom about it. I'm just like passively taking whatever she's saying and like storing that anchor and then wanting to vent it later. And then the fact that my sister's not allowing a venting process, she's just like antagonizing me is like, oh God.

And she said that's fun. Like she says in the moving process, I know that like once I die, you're just going to throw it away. Well then fucking throw it away. None of us, like we don't want it, but emotionally it means something to her. And because it's so hard for her, like you can't imagine what she's going through. No, I can't. But did anyone think that like, maybe we are struggling with this? Maybe I am struggling. By the time I got to Miami,

Marlon was clearly a little fried. He, his mom, and his sister Savannah had made a lot of progress. There was a full pod, basically a movable storage unit, on the driveway. A lot of photographs and furnitures throughout the house were labeled for an upcoming estate sale. His mom didn't quite know where she wanted to live next, but she was ready to part with a lot of the things in this house.

As Marlon and I sat in the backyard, we watched through the back windows of the house as more people arrived. His aunt, uncle, a few cousins, some close friends. What's the event tonight? Like, what's going on here at the house tonight? So this is just, like, a little kind of family gathering. I don't know, just, like, a thing that my dad really liked. He was always, like, a host in a dinner party or a yard party kind of person, and so, like...

He really liked stone crab claws and champagne. That was kind of, like, his way of being fancy. And so, like, when he first died, like, that day Savannah went out and bought, like, all the crab claws out of the supermarket and got a bunch of champagne. I think it's just, like, a way for us to get together before, like, the giant mass of chaos tomorrow. Because, like, essentially, you know, after Sunday, like, everyone's dispersing pretty quickly. So...

It's just going to be an interesting, like, you know, this is kind of like our last family meal at the house. We go into the kitchen from the sliding door on the side of the house, and it's crowded in the kitchen. Marlon's sister is laying out crab claws on the counter, and they take up the entire surface.

So specifically stone crab claws. So stone crab is only harvested a few months of the year, but it was just one of those special occasion kind of foods that we do. The trick is always get medium claws. Specifically medium claws. You never want extra large. There's too much claw, not enough meat.

So medium, you get a better proportion of meat to claw ratio as dad taught us. Have you done a spreadsheet on this? I have not, but I don't need to. So yeah, we have 12 pounds of claws for tonight. When it's time to eat, Marlon and Savannah put on these old chef coats and take the huge pile of crab claws to the patio table in the backyard.

Watch your hand. That is not the appropriate location. There. Is this a homemade crab claw? This is a Murraysill original. A one of a kind. Normally he would do this by himself, but we're just not as good as it, so the tandem crack is what we're working with these days.

They're using a homemade claw cracker that their dad built. The base is a small piece of wood, and there's another piece of wood that looks like a handle attached to the base with a hinge. Marlon and Savannah put one of the claws on the base, and then they both slam the handle down to crack the claw. Three boxes should be good to at least start. We've got two more to go.

Savannah and Marlon take the platter of claws to the dining room where the group of a dozen people are sitting. Their mom, Ricky, stands up and holds her glass of champagne toward the group. Here's to you, Murray, Syl. Cheers. You can stay in Miami. Tomorrow is the memorial, and the plan is to have Murray's friends from different parts of his life speak. Marlon's sister, Savannah, will talk about him as a dad. I ask Marlon if he's going to speak.

Probably not. I think my sister's got that covered. And like, yeah, I just don't know if there's anything I really want to say. Like I've thought about plenty of things I could say while I was hiking, but it just doesn't seem like saying anything is really going to do much for anyone. I don't think it's going to change how I feel or make me feel any better or any worse. I think what most people are looking for is like some connection to my father through people. And like the best thing I can offer them is like being present enough to

at the like open house tomorrow to just like talk to people and listen to them, which is like really annoying because the last thing I want to do is hear people talk about my dad for two hours. But you know, at least I can be present enough to say hi. And why is that annoying to you at this moment? Um, cause to me it feels, it just feels like people are trying to like relive the memory of my father. And it's like, I am not really interested in like hearing their, their story of my father or like their, their view of him.

at least not yet. Like maybe I will in the future or maybe I've gotten over it at this point, but it's like, I don't know. I've kind of put this to rest for now. Um, like I'm just so exhausted with like all the work that has had to happen and things like that. It's like, can I just like not think about it for once? Like, can I, can I think about literally anything else? And that's like,

The next morning is Murray's memorial. It's at the Presbyterian church where he was a member, which is this amazing old stone church that was built in the early 20th century.

It has two little towers on the facade and there's ivy growing on one side. It really looks more like a church you'd see in rural England than Florida. Yeah, it's a fun spot. I say fun, I never liked going to church. It's pretty, it's cool, it's very like South Florida. I'm really hoping this place has good air conditioning. It's hot today. Yeah, and I wore too much. Like this is the nicest clothes I wear or have.

And I wasn't going to rent a black suit for this. So now you look very South, South Florida funeral chic, I guess. I guess the peacock, uh, what is this? A fucking polo tie in. And, uh, my sister goes, you look like a Texas reverend. And I was like, if Texas reverends are gay, I guess.

We walk into the church where a three-piece band is playing at the front. Hey Marlin. Hey Tony. Tony, nice to see you. Good to see you, man. Remember my mom's carol? I knew this would be a fun affair. I didn't know there would be a three-piece. Right? Yeah. There's more fun to come, don't worry. Okay, good, looking forward to it. If it's anything like my father, it'll go off the rails at some point. Oh boy. You're hoping for it? I might instigate it, but we'll see. It's great to see you again. You too.

I have no idea who that is. Eventually, the jazz band stops playing and everyone sits down in a pew. What giving to Murray's family is the most sacred gift you can give to anyone or anything that you give to your time? The minister gives a short eulogy about Murray and then friends and family get up and give their speeches. Marlon doesn't give a eulogy, but at the end, he invites everyone in the church to the family's house for a reception.

And that's it. The formal grieving events are over. Two days later, Marlon takes a 5 a.m. flight back to Lake Tahoe. The ski season's about to start, and he'll begin his job as a ski patrol. When we come back, we check in with Marlon a couple months later. My dad works in B2B marketing. He came by my school for career day and said he was a big ROAS man. Then he told everyone how much he loved calculating his return on ad spend.

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When Marlon left Miami, the family decided at the very last minute to have someone else manage an estate sale at their family home. It was kind of strange. I didn't feel very connected to the house either way at the time. At first, I had it in my mind I was going to come back and

see the house and like get rid of everything and help clear it out. And then kind of at the last minute, it was like, Oh, we're going to have somebody do this for us. And it's going to save us a lot of hassle and pain. I don't think at the time I was really, I really cared that much about it. Um, I was honestly more relieved in the end. I was like, Oh great. One less thing to do. And one less thing to deal with. Once I finally like gotten settled here and like

Kind of had some routine. I definitely did start to notice like kind of a lot of nostalgia that I didn't really have at the time and just kind of like now thinking back about about things that like I won't ever see again or, you know, questions I had. Those are just going to live as mysteries probably because, you know, a lot of what was in there.

is gone and sold and or thrown out. I've had a couple very specific dreams where I'm in the house or the backyard and looking at things. It's almost like I'm looking at something that holds a memory or holds some sort of emotional weight to it. And then as I'm

walking through that dream, like I start to realize that it's a dream because I know those things don't exist anymore. It's funny because the irony is that in the moment when it was happening, I was like, let's throw it all out. Let's get it all gone. Let's not think or deal with this. And now that, you know, things are gone, it's almost this feeling of like, I'm not sure what I'm missing. And there's a lot of, a lot of fear and grief in not knowing what's gone. Yeah.

During our check-in, we asked Marlon about his Thanksgiving. It was the first holiday without his dad. Christmas holidays have not really been a family thing. It's always been Thanksgiving. And so I think that was like the other hard part was like Thanksgiving was always our family's holiday. And so having missed the last like three Thanksgivings, I felt like a lot of weight and pressure to be present and with my family for this Thanksgiving.

And I almost wonder if that like pressure to be there made it more exhausting because it was like, I felt like I had to be there, but I didn't feel like I wanted to be there in a way. I found myself like emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed a lot of the time, like just wanting to not associate with people and maybe not just people, but like not wanting to associate with family in a way, just because it feels like

It's strange because everyone knows what's what's happened. And everyone is like, you can tell they're not trying to walk on eggshells, but at the same time you can, there's just like this subtle veneer that exists where it's like, everything's like not okay, but we're trying to like walk through in this like somewhat normal way with this like

anticipation that like anyone could like lose it at any time so it's like just this delicate waltz of like dealing with family and conversing and how are you doing and it just it's like uncomfortable the way like it's uncomfortable to sit when you have like damp underwear it's that like ever-present subtle itch that you can't really scratch and you don't want to like

stand up and walk around, but you can't really sit because it doesn't feel comfortable. Another thing that's been on Marlon's mind is the stress of his job. He's a ski patrol at a ski resort in Lake Tahoe, which is like an EMT on the mountainside. And Marlon loves this job because he gets to help people and he gets to ski all day. But this season, it's feeling different. We had to watch some sort of snow safety video the other day.

It's all about slope safety and how to ski and ride safely and things like that. But they put in these like tearjerker moments of like patrollers who've responded to individuals who die in the mountain or like a family who lost their five-year-old daughter because a snowboarder hit them at like 50 miles an hour. Things that like, these are all like videos I've seen before having worked for Vail that

were just kind of like not really like they were, it was just kind of like snooze fest stuff that I could just like power through and didn't bother me. And I found myself like very shaken from it, even though I'm like sitting in a room with eight other people watching this and I'm like having like a extremely emotional response to it. And then I found myself like worrying about how like I'm going to be able to respond and act differently.

For people who might end up in a very serious, life-threatening situation. The first major wreck I did as a ski patroller was a woman who hit her head pretty bad and was repetitive every 30 seconds. This is before everything happened. I responded in what I thought was very prudent and professional.

professional and appropriate and quick, but I worry if I had that same wreck again now, would I be able to put the emotions aside to manage that? A couple more months pass and we check in with Marlon in February. I just kept waking up for work and being like, wow, I just don't really feel like I know what I'm doing. And I feel really just kind of like I'm drowning and not

able to focus. And then I finally had a weekend and it's like, I woke up probably at seven and didn't get out of my bed until like 11 or 12, like just couldn't. And I had all these things that like I had to do and needed to do and just couldn't even bring myself to do them. And it was probably one of the weirdest, like probably one of the most depressive episodes I think I've ever had and wasn't really like

I couldn't really pinpoint anything that was making it happen or like making me feel that way. I kept feeling like everything in my life was breaking and every time I would fix one thing, three more things would break. And it was just this continuous, like I'm not getting any forward momentum. And so I think a lot of it just felt like, well, if I can't getting up to try and deal with anything inevitably causes other things to

to break. So why even bother getting up to do anything about it at a certain point? Like I have a very large physical capacity for like work and drive and endurance. You know, it's hard for me because I can hike 2000 miles across the country, whether I'm like emotionally high or low, I can keep doing that and get through. And that like,

in some way, eventually I know I'll bounce back. And I think this was the first time that like physically I was so exhausted that the thought of things breaking and me not having the energy to deal with it was like a pretty big emotional hit for me. Just cause like, I think of myself as a very handy person and like able to problem solve. And that's something I got from my father and like he could,

It's now the present day, March 2023. Murray Sill died last April.

The anniversary is approaching and it is entirely common for your body to take note of these things before your mind even does. I guess like nobody feels like themselves when they experience like loss and tragedy. But as far as like where I can track myself is like, you know, in my 33 years of existence, like I felt like I was reacting pretty normally to the situation.

And then last week, yeah, it was like I had no control of my thoughts or my body and was just like going through the motions and just like everything was playing out in front of me like a screen. And I was just falling asleep in the audience, like just letting it happen. You know, thinking about the anniversary is a little strange for us, or at least for me, because the accident itself was like when everything changed.

There was a lot of uncertainty in the weeks following. And then his actual death was like, almost seemed like a relief. We have these books we use, like these little spiral bound right in the reins that I keep in my

radio harness at work and it's where I like write notes and write down training things or like patient information or missing you know anything I need to write down I put it in there and there's a page just in the middle of that book that I'd like flip to when everything when I got the phone call and it's just like labeled dad's missing call these places a checklist like and I

I want to say periodically in the last like couple of weeks as I've like gotten back into working and using that book, like I'll randomly flip through and like see that page. And I don't think it sparks any like immediate raw nerve, but it is just like this conscious memory of like, right. This is like,

It's still here. It's still present, even though like I have all these other things in this book about like patients and trainings and notes of things to do. It's just like there's still that one page of reminder that it's there and it's not going away. And like I could totally just ask my boss for a new book and it wouldn't be a big deal. But I kind of have this like.

They offered one to me at the start of the season and I was like, I don't know. I don't want to let go of this one yet. And so I think there's some emotional attachment to that. I also wonder if I was there, if I would have done the right things or if I would have had too much emotional attachment to recognize the symptoms and what's going on.

it comes down to a sense of like control. And I think that's a big part of like through hiking and doing what I do is that like, I have a large sense of control of myself and my surroundings and what I'm doing and not having a sense of control is like very difficult. I've like spent the summer hiking, which gave me a lot of emotional comfort in a way. Now that I've lived in Tahoe for a couple months and like,

been working and doing adulty life things, I'm kind of like, I'm getting to a point where I'm less distracted with constant change in movement and more distracted with like the monotony of daily life and having to deal with things on a daily basis when I'm like physically exhausted and obviously becoming emotionally, emotionally spent.

I was out somewhere. I was at a bar or I saw somebody and they were, they were surprised that I was in town. They were like, Oh, I thought you left. You went on a hike and I thought you weren't coming back. And I was like, no, I'm, I'm back. And so it's kind of that feeling of like people keep seeing me here and there and they just never assume I'm actually staying. And so somewhere I have a desire to be rooted and like settled and

And I think what's difficult is that I'm trying to settle and like create roots and that as things keep like coming up, I just keep feeling like the option is give up or go hike. And those are, I don't think those are healthy approaches to when things go wrong necessarily because both of them are avoiding the issue.

I have seen and practiced many unhealthy approaches to grief. And I've seen a lot of incredibly innovative ways people have tried to avoid it, outrun it, or opt out of it entirely. And Marlon didn't ask me, but I don't think his hike was avoiding the issue. And I don't think his approach has been unhealthy either.

And I hope hearing this that he hears what we heard as we made this episode. A person experiencing the depths of loss, the fullness of their own humanity. Someone who has brought his grief with him to the tops of mountains, to the pews of a church, to a soaking wet tent, to a potential fight with a bear. Someone who has walked alongside his loss and let it take him by the hand.

What else can we do but try to create some kind of safe route through this unfamiliar terrain? I do not hear a person who has avoided his grief or a person who has given up. I hear a person who is experiencing it. So it kind of just feels like a survival situation in some ways, which thankfully, like I'm used to that in a lot of ways. And I think through hiking has kind of helped with that.

Cause when you're hiking, there's, you just like accept that there are certain things you can control and other things you can't. And like, if your tent's broken, it's just fucking broken and you just have to sleep on the ground without a tent or like in the tent set up as shittily as possible. If that's what you need to do. And like, if you get wet, you get wet and that's just, what's going to happen. And you have no control over that. And you just have to like pick yourself up and keep walking and move on from that.

Because like, yeah, when you're a 50 or a hundred miles out from a road, like, you know, quitting isn't an option. It's either go forward or go backward. And, you know, it's often just easier to keep going forward. So I kind of feel like, you know, these things are happening and I'm like, well, okay, it's not the end of the world. We just keep going. Just keep figuring it out. And like, things will work out as they work out. I'm Nora McInerney, and this has been Terrible. Thanks for asking.

Our team is Marcel Malekibu, me, Nora McInerney, Jordan Hergen, Claire McInerney, and Megan Palmer. This show is a production of Feelings & Co. It is a just, it's a small independent production company that is everybody you just heard. Plus our colleagues, Eugene Kidd and Larissa Witcher, whose names I forgot to say because I literally have to write down everything.

I write sometimes my own name in the credits. I've worked with Marcel since 2018. I still physically write his name in the credits. Feelings & Co. is an independent podcast production company that brings you this show and is working on several others. You can support our work by going to ttfa.org slash premium.com.

Since the beginning, our show has been made possible by listener support. If this is something that you are able and interested in doing, we would love that. You can find out more at ttfa.org slash premium.

Thank you so much to Marlon, Savannah, and Ricky Sill for letting us spend time with your family in Miami and attend Murray's memorial service. Thank you so much to Marlon for allowing us into his emotional space for the last year. You are a beautiful person. You have a beautiful story. It has been so wonderful to help you tell it.

Big, big credit to Claire McInerney for jumping on that plane and jumping into somebody else's grief so deeply. And to Megan Palmer, who did a lot of the editing and structuring of this episode and did a really good job on it. She might cut this out, but I really do think she deserves a small round of applause, a bigger round of applause, but she can't hear you, so just...

Good job. Good job, everyone. And good job to you. If you are a person who needs to hear that today, you are not alone. I think you're doing a good job. We're all doing a good job. We're doing a good job.

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