great sadness this morning
It is with sadness that I have learned that Weems's beloved son, Wallace Westfeldt has died Friday morning in a snowboarding accident in Aspen. For all of us on iThou, it was clear how much love there was shared between father and son... how much common spirit and passion for life they both had. Our heart and love goes out to Weems and family during these very difficult times.
With abundant love, on behalf of the community,
--- Albert
From the Rocky Mountain News:
"Aspen native and snowboarder Wallace Westfeldt liked spinners, bonks and card tricks, according to one of his sponsors' Web sites.
He enjoyed powder days, sunny days, park days, big air, small air, winning - and New Zealand, according to another Web site.
But Friday morning, the 22-year-old died just outside his hometown after jumping off a cliff in an out-of-bounds area called Tonar Bowl beyond the Aspen Highlands ski area, according to the Pitkin County Sheriff and Aspen Daily News."
http://www.rockymountainnews.com/news/2008/apr/05/extreme-boarder-dies-in-cliff-fall/
in memoriam
As a friend and parent of two sons, I have no words... I can only offer my support and love for you and your family. You and your sons have touched so many peoples lives. Let me know if there is anything I can do, or we (ithou) can do to show up for you and your family. In the meantime I will light a candle here and in my home for you, Wallace, and your family. Love to you my friend, Steven
i have no words for this. am thinking of you and praying for you and sending you and your family all my love and support.
We all love you- those who knew you and even anyone who hasn't met you but read your words- how you love your boys- what an amazing person & father you are ... and all I can say is I have no idea what to say- except my friendship is there for you for always and I wrap my arms about you and your family in a comforting embrace. From one parent to another- I love you....
dear dear weems. steven told me this devastating news as i bounded into weather report today, unaware.
i felt the shock, then my heart immediately flew to you and your family as my eyes filled with tears and i, like others, know there are no words to solace at this time. i will hold you and your family in my heart and prayers for a long time to come - - - - - praying for a heart-full grieving process that will lead you all to increased healing. i am so very, very sorry.
love and blessings. dorothy
I think of you today Weems. I can only imagine the devastating heartbreak that you suffer. It seems inevitable that Wallace had your verve, your energy, your bright light and humor. To have died doing what he loved could be no better. The mountain will hold his spirit forever. You have spoken of this edge often...riding close to the brink of life, and the thrill it holds for those with a passion for the cold, white stuff and the stomach for the adrenalin that life offers up in those special places that few dare to visit. I think of your joy on the motor dragon...Blessings, dear Weems, every day. You are held in this time of loss, with love and compassion. Please allow us to do what we can...I am here for you. -Mindy
ASPEN- A skiing and riding memorial service for Wallace Westfeldt, who fell to his death Friday in the Tonar Bowl near Aspen Highlands, will be at 1 p.m. Tuesday at Sandy Park off the old Elk Camp lift near the picnic table at Snowmass Ski Area.
Afterward, there will be an indoor gathering, possibly at 3 p.m. at the Snowmass Conference Center, according to an e-mail from Westfeldt’s father, Weems. There, a slide presentation of Wallace’s “magic in the snow” will take place, as well as shared memories from those in attendance. All events are open to the public.
Here is a link to more: Memorial Set for Aspen Snowboarder
Weems, from a distance we are with you in heart and presence... love to you, Steven
...except to say, "What a tragedy!"
The kindness and warmth of my friends at ithou is so fine and wonderful. Thank you thank you.
This is so harsh and so hard.
All of our hearts broke along with Wallace's aorta. We will heal. He will not. We will therefore carry him in our hearts with the lightness and grace he brought to us.
I will be back among you soon I hope. In the meantime, your caring is really touching us nicely. Thank you.
Weems
Weems...I am Sorry for your loss and everyone's loss. Love, Rob
You are so courageous...Blessings, friend.
of this too-soon turn of the wheel of life. Sitting with this news, in sadness... with you.
yesterday's memorial service for Wallace and imagining it was moving and difficult. i was not at home at the time it was going on so stopped where i was for three minutes of silence dedicated to wallace, and to you weems, and your family. still praying and thinking of y'all multiple times every day. i know many folks are! you are an inspiration in your grief (and otherwise!) love. peace. blessings.
...and thanks for your kind indulgence!
This is my tribute to Wallace Briggs Westfeldt, spoken at his memorial gathering in Aspen on 4/09/08. His mother, brothers, and many others (especially many young people) also spoke from their hearts about his being and what he means to us in all the levels of our lives. Especially gratifying was that the young and even very young who had been touched by Wallace spoke with great and ancient wisdom and love.
I want to thank all of you for the love you showed Wallace throughout his short life. You all contributed, directly and indirectly, so much to him and to our whole family, that we are completely humbled and deeply grateful. And now we have to grieve and mourn and celebrate together before we move on.
I see an underlying theme in our grieving—sometimes spoken, but often silent—that I summarize with the word “WHY?” This is accompanied by another thought that this CANNOT BE TRUE.
When my dear friend (and boss), Mike Kaplan, came to our house to inform me of Wallace’s death, I really didn’t even understand the words he was saying. They seemed to crawl into my ears in disjointed syllables that had no possibility of making sense. My mind wouldn’t take this in. It just refused. Often it still does. And then the reality slaps me (and us) in the face with waves of grief.
I’ve stopped worrying too much about “Why?” And, whether there is an organizing principle in the universe or not--whether things happen for a reason or not--I’m pretty much at ease with incomprehensibility, chaos, and the apparent randomness of phenomena. Rather than try to pin down the reason, I am learning just to accept it.
My nephew and former ski racer, Matt Luhn, reminded me yesterday that the mountains give us all that we do and love out here, and yet, sometimes, they just claim one of us. It's the natural course of mountain living and it has been so for centuries. We don't like that. But we understand it, and it teaches us, like the ocean does, with such stunning directness about our vulnerability as we dance with the universe. There is nothing I can do about this, except to keep on dancing the dance—to keep on making turns.
However, I can heal from life’s blows. For me, the beginning of healing occurred when the awful truth of Wallace’s accident became real within me. This didn’t happen suddenly, nor will the healing. But, I need to testify here that IT IS REAL, AND THAT IT IS HARD, AND THAT WE WILL HEAL.
This doesn’t mean that sadness will disappear. Nor does it mean that there will be no scars. And it clearly doesn’t mean that we will walk away from Wallace and his great gift to our lives.
I think it means that we will be able to move forward…to place him gently and properly in our individual and collective heart… and to live lives that honor him. With time, I won’t need to think of this every day. It will just be a feeling I will have—connected to a smile at the thought of him.
The “thought of him”—the concept of Wallace—is my grounding place for all of this. It’s based on another odd question that keeps coming up: “Who was this child, this perfect young being, who has graced our lives?” So I will take a moment to express my own answer to that and tell you what you already know. I know that I can only express a tiny part of the real answer, but I’m arrogant enough, and broken-hearted, enough to try.
1. First, Wallace was perfect from our perspective. He moved through his world with qualities of grace, elegance and style, with kindness and love, with wisdom and humility. And humor! The light and gentleness in his eyes and smile told most of the story. Other parts were told through his perseverance, his amazing coolness, his aspirations, and his sense of the “trickster”. I remember his Grandfather, Poppy Bogle, saying, with this twinkle in his eye, “That Wallace is a rascal!” I think maybe Wallace was about 6 weeks old at the time.
2. Secondly, Wallace was part of one of the greatest miracles of mine and Nancy’s lives—our triplet miracle. Watching him, and his brothers, move through their lives as a team—sometimes working as one, sometimes differentiating perfectly, and even sometimes—but rarely—having their own dysfunctions…..Wow, what a pleasure to witness! What delights we’ve seen! They seemed to be a center of gravity for each other, their friends and relatives, and for us (their parents). And just as often they were a bit embarrassed by the attention it brought them. But it was wonderful—full of antics and scenarios that gave us laughter, tears, worry, and comfort. And it was weird! I remember when we first became conscious of them. We were getting a sonogram for Nancy when she was 17 weeks pregnant, and the attendant turns on the machine, and says, “Well, there’s the baby. (pause) And there’s another one right over here.” (And I’m thinkin’, “ANOTHER ONE!???”) (Again sometimes these words don’t really get into my brain very clearly!) And then he says, “And there is a third one over on this side.” (And I’m thinkin’ something like, “Dude, I think you got the wrong channel. Or maybe your machine’s busted. Or, use the sonogram, not the copier!”) And from that point on nothing was the same, and everything was magical. (Not easy, but magical.) And very funny: This wonderful Taoseno lift op in Taos came up to me and with laughter in his eyes, said, “Hey Weems, bro, I heard you was havin’ triplets! Who’s the father of the other two!” Wallace’s leg of the tripod will not be replaceable. But I already know and see that Packy and Ben, as they internalize their brother, and with their inner strength, can stand on their own. This triplet bond doesn’t end in the death of one.
3. Thirdly, Wallace was a wonderful friend for all of you, and a loving son and brother for us. Amelia, Wallace’s love and companion says it best and most simply. “He was so easy to love.” The children and friends at our service on the snow, all said the same in one way or another.
4. And, finally, Wallace had the magic on his snowboard. In spite of all his injuries, he was a master of his body, his board, gravity, air, and snow. His skills were vast and his technique was flawless. He understood his snowboard, the snow, and the mountain forces, and knew what he could do with all that. His determination and commitment was so inspiring that it sometimes broke our hearts, but also made us happy. I remember him duct taping a skateboard with no trucks to his feet and doing flip after flip on a trampoline. When he first got the chance to ride—at a much earlier age than we were recommending in the ski school—he walked up and slid down endlessly on the beginner hill at Snowmass—discovering the craft and honing the skill—just as any child learns to walk. However, for me, what really stood out was the way he touched the mountain and the snow—with the same grace and feeling that he touched us all. Watching him make simple turns on groomed slopes was just as moving for me and Nancy as watching him jump or ride rails. The little things he did, the flow of his movements and snowboard—these were just stunningly simple and beautiful. He massaged the snow and danced with gravity in ways that I’ve always wanted to achieve. Many musicians can play their instruments, but few can make them come alive with the music. Wallace was transcendent in the way he worked his body and his board and his spirit. And that was the magic that just enthralled us. And we’re all so lucky to have seen it.
So here’s the deal.
I’m going to gently move gratitude to its rightful place alongside the sorrow. After all…
You can’t choose how long you can live. But you can choose how well you do it. And, Wallace chose very very well.And I’m so grateful for that.
You can’t choose how long your loved ones are with you physically. But you can choose how you enshrine them in your own mind, body, and spirit.And, it will be so easy to keep Wallace in our hearts.I’m really grateful for that.
You can’t manage the course of your children’s or your friends’ lives. But you can honor them EVERY DAY in the way you live. And, it will be fine to lead my life trying to be worthy of the gift of Wallace’s short, beautiful life. I’m completely grateful for that.
As Tom Crum has taught me so well…”Always give thanks.” So I invite you all to join me in this gratitude. It feels very good. And besides, we have no other good choice on this. The experience of having been touched by Wallace demands it!
Weems
Weems, I am in awe. Your words bring me to tears... you have spoken your truth as elegantly as you move with the mountain. I cannot add another thought, or feeling, or word. Thank you for your grace, humility, and heart. You are a good father and model.
When the time comes that you are called to the road again, I do hope you know you have a home to visit here in Big Sur. A walk in the Santa Lucia Mountains of Big Sur and healing Hot Spring await you should your path take you this direction.
Tearfully, Gratefully, Steven
you know that I'm not good at writing my feelings. This was so beautiful and raw. You are such an amazing human being and I do know just how blessed I am to call you my friend. I have learned so much from you and am still learning every single time we talk or communicate. Grieving is so hard because we fight it. Not you. I can't imagine how I would handle losing James or Kevin but I can only hope to be half as graceful and present as you are.
Loving you always,
Gina
I had been thinking about the service and how you were all doing.
I really like the words....But, I would have expected no less- your eloquence no longer astounds me.
Thinking about you throughout the 24 hours.
Anjela x
more children had dads like you weems! can you imagine the healing in the world?? your wisdom, grace, and authenticity shine through so brightly!
i, too, am moved to tears by your words and the privilege of 'getting to know' wallace a little through this.
thank you so much for this sharing.
peace, love & blessings. Dorothy
Thank you for the lesson in gratitude and riding the rails.
so honored and privileged to be, in some small way, a part of the love all around you, your dear son, and your family....
I have treated myself to much therapy and healing by passing this stuff on to all of you. Thank you everyone for being there to hear it. Your presence is like good go juice for me.
Weems
It is now time to for me to end this and move on to other phases of healing, but I beg one last indulgence--posted by my other sons and his friends:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQM95m4CMDs
Much love and deep thanks to you all for bathing me in your soothing and comforting.
Weems
dear, dear weems. i cried all the way through this video. and not just for you, or wallace, but for all the unfinished places of grief inside me connected to those i have loved who have passed over, or those i imagine how i would feel if they left (my son, my grandson, etc.) it was a powerful and healing experience which i am very grateful for. thank you weems. thank you wallace. thank you brothers.
dear weems, thank you a million times for sharing Wallace's inspirational spirit and beauty with us.
Like Dorothy if you feel, for you, it is right to not write morethen thank you for sharing what you have shared Weems. But to me also reading about Wallace allows me to feel part of that grief and healing as so generously shared with us.
Weems, I have always loved seeing your pictures and the lovely one you shared too of your boys in another posting ages ago.
x
and images of beauty, always. Thank you for including us in this reminiscence and tribute.
Yesterday, we rode to the top of Gowdy’s chute up on the Big Burn of Snowmass--just above the treeline at about 11000 feet. We walked to the edge of the cornice, and each--I, Nancy, Packy, Ben, Amelia (Wallace's girlfriend), Megan (one of our great sister/friend/daughters who have been camping at the house lately), and Victor Gerdin (a dear old friend who drove the snowcat for us) took a few handfuls of Wallace's ashes. The wind blew up quickly and the snow began to swirl across the flat slopes at the top and out into the void of the Cirque (1/2 mile across and about 300 feet deep. One by one, we lifted our hands and released ashes into the wind, the snow, and the Cirque, as we looked out at the white, rugged Holy Cross Mountains in the distance to the north. Just before we left, three little birds flew up to check us out. Their curiosity satisfied, the flew off.
This place was the magic playground of our triplet children, and we all sobbed, and hugged, and no one said a word the entire time. We just let the wind and the snow and the mountains speak. And they were eloquent enough.
However, many have spoken, and here is the blog that we've put up to collect it. It's long so find what you need, and let the rest dissolve in the cyber wind. http://wallacebriggswestfeldt.blogspot.com/ Time to start living again. I'm pretty much convinced that grieving, mourning, and moving on don't happen in order. They seem to work side by side. So the new knee comes in tomorrow. Love to you all. And thanks so much for your support, both individually and collectively. This sucks. But I guess it sucks at a pretty high level.
Weems
I have started this comment about a dozen times- a dozen times to tell you, what tears I shed on reading the heartfelt messages extended to you and your beautiful family on the webpage dedicated to Wallace.
What this young man Wallace meant to everyone whom he touched so deeply. (Deep Breath) Your journey to the mountain top and your description of releasing Wallace's ashes is so heartwrenching. And yet the three birds... even in your sorrow, there is beauty surrounding all of you.
I have absolutely no words to describe what it feels like to read the dedications and watch the slideshows-not just the sadness but the joy that shows through but, the sadness too.
Love and courage Weems to you and your family,
Anjela
In the middle of all that is going on for you... I wish today that your surgery and new knee bring you great joy, sweet turns in white powder, and all the good juju the mountains offer up to us. May you heal fast to ski again another day soon. Thanks for sharing the blog site and incredible images of the wonderful sons you have...
with love, Steven
I've just received an email from Weems, yes, from the hospital and he seems to be doing well. I'll be talking with him later and will keep everybody posted.
Gina
Weems