Moss Rock

During my post-Station Eleven flânerie, I hiked up to Moss Rock Park, a scrubby expanse of rock and brush at the top of a hill overlooking Fairfield. From there I was able to see the entire neighbourhood and the ocean beyond it, not precisely a bird’s eye view, but a grand vista nonetheless. High-end houses rim the park’s perimeter, but the sense of isolation fit the mood of the post-apocalyptic novel I had finished reading hours earlier.

There is one scene in the book, where the heroine, Kirsten, is faced with imminent death. Refusing to let the face of the man holding the gun to her head be the last thing she sees on this earth, she lifts her gaze and watches a bird wheeling across the sky. She absorbs as much of the surrounding world as she can—the crickets chirping, the smell of the grass, the warmth of the sun on her skin. She remembers the people she loves, she feels how desperately she loves them, and she thinks, I am not afraid.

I knew someone who chose to die in this park. I was hardly close to her; I didn’t even like her that much—we worked in the same place for a time and didn’t get along that well. When her husband died, she couldn’t face life without him, so she disappeared and a few days later, the searchers found her at the top of the hill. It was sad news, to be sure. It’s the most personal decision anyone can make, whether or not to continue in this estate. Understanding may not be possible to those on the outside, but compassion certainly is.

This was my first visit to the park and, naturally, I couldn’t go there without thinking of her. I sat on the lone bench and watched the sunlight on the water. Birds wheeled across the sky. Insects buzzed over errant flowers, paintbrush drops of colour against the stone. The air was warm and silken, the breeze whispering through the dry grass, and I thought, I know why you came here. And I knew why Kirsten, while staring death in the eye, chose the open sky to be her final sight before the end. It’s what I would choose—what I will choose, assuming I have a say—to take with me when I go.

There is nothing more beautiful than the world we’ll leave behind.