At the center of a community of Vermonters, skiers, snowboarders, vagabonds, tenters, cyclists, partiers, academics, sauna enthusiasts, wakeboarders, sailer's, bums, UVMers, climbers and good people was Ryan Hawks. On March 1, 2011 Ryan died of injuries sustained while skiing on the World Free Skiing Tour. After months of figuring out how to write about Ryan, our friends and what our time together meant, I've decided the only thing to do is start and see where it takes me.
At 5:52 AM my phone rang once. I knew instantly what had happened. My had shot across the bed and answered, on the other end was Louis - calm, resolved and heart broken.
We lost Ryan he whispered.
Three words and time stopped.
And Dissolved.
And became a kaleidescope of wanting the past back and knowing that it was gone forever.
The night before everyone in Ryan's world had gone to bed heaving a collective sigh of relief clutching onto the word "stable". I'd had 6000 phone calls up and down the phone tree of dear friends and almost forgotten acquaintances.
"We just don't know what's coming next, but Hawks always pulls out of this stuff."
"No matter what shape he's in, he'll have us to get him back on his feet and back on skis."
"I'll fly out next week when they bring him out of the coma."
"How are Peter and Jackie doing?"
"Ryan's OK right? I heard he fell? Have you talked to him?"
With our friend stable I was sure that each day was going to get better. When I went to sleep Monday night, I was sure that by Wednesday afternoon I'd be able to talk to my old friend and hear everything that had happened. Maybe try to make him laugh. Suddenly I was faced with the inconceivable idea that I would speak to him again.
How things progressed from that first moment of shock is a testament to the love and sense of family that Ryan left behind.
