*In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. — Albert Camus*

![Two Frozen in Time.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmcLcn6wrLr3R9ZMzjanJDq36GWjdCoZ5vC2jVFdFRxkLT/Two%20Frozen%20in%20Time.png)*Two Frozen in Time*

I’m struggling with leaving my family when we’re going through a crisis. Gunnar booked a flight for me to help exhume a body that’s been frozen in the ice for millennia—frozen like me, trapped in my feelings. Maybe I should have stayed behind in Toronto but I have repsonsibilities to my career and well, nothing’s moving on the homefront. Linda and I are stuck trying to reconcile with Pauline, who ghosted us for 3 years and only got in touch to announce she was married… No walking her down the aisle for me, but plenty of late night pacing the floor trying to decide which way to turn or go.

I touch down in Innsbruck just past nine pm, and as promised, Gunnar’s waiting faithfully, smiling from ear to ear. “Good trip?” “My ears are popping and my head feels like it’s submerged in a bathysphere.” “Any other complaints?” he smiles. “Have you got anything for migraine heartaches?”

An hour later we’re still sitting in the bar—he patiently listening to parental angst—and I, well on my way to getting drunk. “I’m sorry, Reg—I have no advice—only sympathy to offer and a willing ear.” I yawn and my ears pop again. “You’d think with all the scotch I swallowed, my middle ear would calm down.” “Maybe it’s siding in with your heart—launching a protest against hearing bad news.” “Well, you did your best to offset that, my friend.” “Yes, but unfortunately happy news doesn’t cancel feelings of grief.”

I smile at his young, earnest face. “But the support of good friends helps.” I stand and sway a little. “Oops—you may have to help me out to the car.” “I’ll ride you on the baggage carrier if necessary,” he laughs. The way I’m feeling—just going through the motions—maybe he should just get a dolly and wheel me around. It’s weird how even grown children can suck the life right out of you.

The following day we’re in the Alps in Trentino-Alto Adige, the mountainous region on the border between Austria and Italy. The high peak of the Fineilspitze towers over us. We’re in a mountain pass with vistas of snow and rock all around us. It’s an austere and lonely place—as desolate as the Moon. Gunnar is talking and I have to force myself to focus.

“We don’t think the body was ritually buried—usually, huge rocks would be piled on top to help shelter it from scavengers. But the ice and snow did that.” I’m looking at a mummified corpse, pitched on an angle, half out of an ice sheet—as if he tried to scrape his way up from the grave and back to the land of the living. It’ll take time to carefully extract him from the ice—unless we use jackhammers to break him free as they did with the Iceman back in ’91—not an option, of course. I sit down in the snow and take in the scene. It’s an overcast day and the sky’s a mass of swirling gray and black clouds. A lonely place to die.

The length of time a body is abandoned is an indicator of disconnectedness. He’s lain here for over 5700 years. I shiver at the thought of it. Gunnar eyes the sky. “Do you think we’ll get much work done today?” I shake my head. “Let’s erect a tent to cover it. I’ll pitch a tent nearby.” “You’re not intending to spend the night in this god-forsaken place, are you?” “I’ll be fine—My friend here will keep me company.”

“Better he than me,” Gunnar laughs. “I’m spending the night with the après-ski crowd at the chalet—you’re welcome to join us.” “With my somber mood? I’ll ruin your party. Go have fun, and bring me a hot thermos of coffee in the morning.” He reluctantly packs up his gear and joins the others in the dual track snow vehicle. Within moments, the soft thunder of the motor dies away leaving me alone in the silence.

To be continued…
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