"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

You had climbed Mount Everest five times before succumbing to the mountain’s will in April of 1996. Leaving behind a wife and a daughter. Sometimes I wonder, when you were dying, did you ever think about what your daughter would be like? Did you feel guilty for having summited and trying to save Doug Hansen and not being able to go back to your life like you were supposed to? Were you angry that you had to die the way you did? Scared because you knew you couldn’t be rescued? Or, were you happy that you actually died doing what you loved, even if it was in the most undesirable way possible?
I think you felt all those emotions at once. Guilt, anger, fear, love, joy, and most of all, peace. Guilt for not being able to complete your job as a guide and protecting the people who summited; even though both you and your team knew the risks. Guilt for not being able to go back home to your wife and unborn child. For not being able to see all the things your daughter would accomplish; not seeing her be born, leaving her fatherless, not seeing her take her first steps, or go on a date, or get married. You wouldn’t see any of that. And, most of all, guilt for dying on that mountain.
I also think you felt anger for having died on that mountain as well, not just guilt. Because, after five climbs, the mountain finally beat you. But, I also mention fear because I’m sure at some point (when you would struggle to breathe due to being on the south summit and in the death zone, or when you knew if you would survive you would need to have limbs and extremities amputated due to frostbite, or even when you began to get so cold that you didn’t just get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, it was all over your body), you just felt despair and wanted so desperately not to leave this world. Not in the way you did. Because you knew, that even though help was on the way…it would never come.
Love, because you knew that even though it would be hard for your wife, you knew she would still love you even after you succumbed to death. And, she would teach your daughter to love the father she would never know. And, because you loved them both so much. You loved them and I’m sure that even in your final moments—while you were in a disoriented state—you knew that you always would and that made you feel at peace. It made you feel at peace that you no longer had to suffer, that you died doing what you loved, and that you died knowing that you were loved. Which is more than some people receive in this world.
I’m alive, and I don’t even feel loved. How does that work? How can your heart be beating and pumping blood and doing all it can to keep you physically alive while at the same time, the emotional part is slowly dying? When we die—when our heart can no longer support us physically—is that when we feel the emotional part come to life more than ever? That when you are close to dying and you see your life flash before your eyes…is that when you see all the ways everyone in your life ever loved you? Sometimes, I wonder when I’ll see that.