Rest in Peace, Shirley Fischer

Shirley Fischer

I was sad to learn yesterday of the passing of my friend Shirley Fischer.

Shirley was an amazing person whose life-journey once took her almost to the top of the world. But there in the rarified air of Mt. Everest’s Base Camp, Shirley experienced a devastating loss. She would spend the rest of her life in search of peace. Along the way and without realizing it herself, Shirley touched the lives of many – including mine – with a kind of grace that defies the confines of religious understanding. If on Mt. Everest Shirley lost her faith it was also on Everest that she found “a way” to live with meaning and purpose.

Let me tell you the story.

The turning point in Shirley’s life occurred on May 11, 1996. Days earlier she’d arrived at Everest Base Camp after a six-week trek from Kathmandu. As exhausting as the journey was and despite the high  altitude, Shirley was full of energy and excitement. It was there at Base Camp that her son Scott would meet her for a few days before leading an expedition to the summit.

Scott Fischer

A renowned climber, having conquered the world’s highest peaks including Everest (without supplemental oxygen), Scott ran a Seattle-based company called Mountain Madness. He was there to lead a team of 10 on their ascent to the 29,000 foot summit. Someone wrote that this may have been the first time in Mt. Everest’s storied history that a mother showed up on the mountain to check on her son.

They spent several days together. Shirley said it was wonderful to actually experience some of what her son was so passionate about. The soaring immensity of Everest itself was overwhelming, but the time together with Scott was a precious gift. When the time arrived for Scott to start the climb on May 6th, Shirley felt as if she was with him. Through binoculars she watched the climbers disappear into the clouds shrouding the mountain.

There were a larger than normal number of climbers attempting the summit that May. Consequently Scott made the top late in the afternoon of May 10th. He’d been delayed by a sick climber who had to be escorted back to base camp. The climb back up to rejoin his group took longer than expected and Scott was starting to suffer from altitude sickness.

Then on the descent it started snowing.

It was a blizzard.

Sending his team ahead to the safety of Camp IV below, Scott was sick, exhausted and unable to continue. He sent his climbing partner on, planning to catch up when the storm subsided. The next day, May 11, 1996, a rescue team ascended to where Scott was last known to be. When they found him they discovered that Scott had perished during the night. The rescue team shrouded his body and pulled him off the trail.

And that is where the body of Shirley Fischer’s son remains to this day.

Leaving the mountain without her son was tormenting –  the hardest thing Shirley ever had to do. The grief was deeper than deep. Well-meaning friends who tried comforting her with religious platitudes simply made it worse. Shirley’s faith was shaken and she was angry at God – if there even was a God.

She turned to yoga – a spiritual practice that had become important to Shirley even before she lost Scott. Many of her Christian friends raised objections to her practicing a “pagan” discipline. Some protested when she offered to teach a yoga class in her church. She decided instead to hold the class in a community center.

That’s about the time I met Shirley. I was the new Pastor of the church she no longer felt comfortable in. One of my first visits was to Shirley and her husband Gene. I had no words and certainly no answers to offer them. The depth of their wound was so obvious I could do nothing but listen to them pour out their hearts. We cried together. And hugged. And became friends.

I encouraged Shirley to keep practicing and teaching yoga. Her classes filled up with ever increasing numbers of people for whom traditional religion no longer worked. They were seeking a kind of spiritual wholeness and peace not to be found in religious doctrines or practices. And they were finding strength for living life and loving others. In her little yoga space she conveyed grace to many, many people. Shirley might object to my describing it this way but she became a Christ-like presence in our Village.

Over the years our lives intersected at many moments but my favorite times were when Shirley called me up and invited to take me out to lunch. We’d talk about life, family, and all sorts of interesting things. And we discussed religion. A lot. She would tell me what she struggled with and I shared with her my own struggles, often with many of the same things. I told her what I believe and she told me what she believed. Shirley and I discovered that we are more alike than different, both of us being on a journey through the thick of life trying to live through it all, love through it all, and make sense of it all. Most importantly we shared a deep commitment to helping others through life’s mountains and valleys. Those were precious moments shared with my friend Shirley.

The last time I saw Shirley and Gene was around the time my retirement. We bid each other  “goodbye” in the same fashion we had said “hello” eighteen years earlier  in 1996 – with tears and a long hug.

“Peace, my friend,” she whispered in my ear.

And also with you, dear friend.