The dreadful call came shortly before 3:00am, on a moonless Tuesday morning. Simon Cooke senior had passed away peacefully in his sleep. My father had long suffered the effects of cancer. Tonight, he was released from his pain.
"Hello."
"Mr. Cooke?"
"Speaking."
"Mr. Cooke, it's Anne Richards at The Turning Leaf Hospice, I regret to be the one that has to inform you, but your father has moved on. I am so very sorry."
"Moved on? Dr. Wylie said that my father was in stable condition when I left there on Sunday?"
"I'm so sorry, but regrettably, these things do occasionally happen."
Ms. Richards and I spoke about the arrangements and as usual in my father's life, everything had been planned down to within a penny by him, so things would be pretty much straight forward going.
There was really no sense in trying to get any sleep now, so I got up, put a pot of coffee on and started my day. Luckily American Airlines was able to get me a 9:00am flight from Chicago to Missoula, Montana, from there, I would drive to my childhood home of Whitefish. Packing whatever would be needed for clothes, the essentials and some basic sundries, I was on my way to the airport.
Nothing in life helps you to reflect on your past like the death of a loved. You end up visualizing events from the past, present and future of your life.
I was born in Whitefish in 1992 to my loving parents, Helen and Simon Cooke. We lived about 15 miles outside of town on what my parents liked to refer to as a ranch. It is about 35 acres, which is small by Montana standards. We lived a full fruitful life, with lots of outdoor activities, camping, skiing and travel. It was nothing for us to load up the car and drive 500 miles over a weekend. We were inseparable until I started my first year of high school. I was unaware, but trouble had loomed for a long time. Helen quit her job as a legal assistant and spent her time staring at the empty bottles of wine that she had consumed during the day. My father who worked at home, as Chief Editor for a large enough publishing company in New York City, was there to witness her demise.
After a few inept attempts at rehab, Helen left us. She packed up her bags and hastily departed while I was at school and neither my father or myself ever heard from her again. As of April 12th, 2006, it was just my father and I. Dad was heartbroken, but great, he was my guide and my mentor, he never ceased to amaze or surprise me He was always doing small things and some not so small things for me. Like spending $1500 on my 12th birthday, for lumber to build a treehouse on the back part of our property, to giving me my first beer on a birthday fishing trip. He said that in his eyes, 16 years old was the true start of "being a man". When we returned home from that same trip, dad handed me over the keys to my very first vehicle, a used 1966 Ford Bronco. The only car that I have owed since that very day.
As liberal as my father was, he had strict rules and those rules were to be followed or risk his wrath. Senior had rules that were quite simple, no laziness allowed, do your chores, do your best, no lying, no stealing, no drugs, no drinking and driving. Adhere to these guidelines and there would be no problems
The winter months in Montana can be a bitch, but summers are a beautiful thing, the sounds, the sights, the smells, are everything that the mountains are meant to be. We had a stream that ran through our property that was only a matter of yards from where my treehouse was, so in the summer I would spend almost every waking moment there fishing and swimming. Sometimes, I was allowed to have a fire and stay the night in my treehouse, but that was only if I was armed with my trusty 22-caliber rifle.
Living in the country meant not having lots of friends, at least not within walking distance, so I spent most of my time at the treehouse by myself. That was until the second week of summer break, after my first year of high school. It was that week that Lea Martin wandered through the woods and stood on the other side of the stream, watching me fish.
Lea Martin's family owned the ranch that bordered ours, but their place was actually a working ranch, with over 5000 head of cattle and lots of horses. Lea and I went to the same schools for most of our lives and were in many of the same classes, but we hung out in different social circles, so we really didn't socialize that often. Lea was the epitome of the girl next door, wholesome looks with little or no make-up, the solid hard-working frame of a farmer's daughter with a laugh and smile that melted ice.
"Hey Simon. Catchin' anything?"
"Not really. What are you doing in the woods?"
"Our house is only a quarter mile that way." She said, pointing to the east. "My mom said she could smell a fire out here last night and thought that the bush was on fire."
"Nah, that was me. Had a little fire to cook my fish. Tell her that I'm sorry."
"She wasn't complaining, just worried."
"There a log down across the water, just a little bit up stream, if you want to come over. I have some pop and Gatorade."
"You got an extra pole?" When I nodded that I did, Lea said that she would be right over.
Lea and I talked and laughed about all the things that 14-year-old's do. I gave her a grand tour of my treehouse and she told me that it was the coolest one she had ever seen. I couldn't have been any prouder. We caught a couple of trout and sipped on pop all afternoon. Lea checked her watch and said she had some chores to do before supper and had best be going. I told her that I had to do the same.
"Are you going to be here tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Probably around 10:00am."
Lea surprised me when she said, "I had a lot of fun, you mind if I come hang out again."
"You can come hang out here anytime you want."
With that, Lea leaned in, hugged me and said, "Simon, I'm really sorry to hear about your mom."
I put my chin down to my chest as it started to swell, but I was able to thank her for the kind gesture.
Lea showed up the next day, the day after that and almost every other day throughout the summer. We lived at the treehouse. Played games, told stories and got away from real life. Almost every day during that summer and the 3 summers that followed, Lea and I would just hangout. Like us, our stories and conversation matured with each year, but it was still our hide-a-way. We continued meeting there into the school year, up until snow fell and it was just to cold to be out there for any great length of time.
When the school buzzer finally sounded, the summer of 2010 was upon us. Graduation was over and done with, university and uncertainty, was what I had to look forward to. Lea and I had both turned 18 during the winter months, we had both been given scholarships to very good schools, unfortunately schools that were at opposite ends of the country. I was going to Northwestern and Lea was going to Florida State. I couldn't help but wonder if this would be our last summer spent at the treehouse.
The first day of summer vacation Lea called and asked if I was going to the "spot" as she liked to call it. I said I was.
