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Sarah Alarid
Photos:
Brianna Kirkpatrick |
A week or
so before Christmas I officially met her for the first
time. I had seen her at a few family functions but didn’t
know who she was. She walked into our kitchen behind the
rest of my son’s family, and I introduced myself. “I’m
Sarah”, she said in return, and offered me a delicate hand.
Something about her touched my heart, and I found myself
watching her and wondering what her story was. I looked
forward to getting to know her, and even was prepared to
welcome her to our small family festivities on Christmas
Eve.
Tragically,
by the first few days of the new year, 19 year old Sarah
Alarid’s name and face
became
forever ingrained in the memory of her family, friends, and
the communities who desperately searched and handed out
missing flyers when she never came home from a New Year’s
Eve party. For nine days, it was almost as if she had
disappeared off the face of the earth.
A
helicopter on it’s way to another news story caught a
glimmer of something that no one else had seen, although
many of us, myself included, had looked over the Bear Divide
area in the Angeles National Forest looking for some sign of
Sarah and her car. The very mountains she knew and loved had
swallowed her up when her car drifted over a cliff and was
practically buried in the thick chaparral and trees.
A strange
mixture of relief, and grief came over all of us who had
been involved in the massive efforts to find Sarah Alarid.
Relief, that at last we knew what had become of her, grief
for the loss of a young woman’s life who had brought smiles
to all she knew.
At a loss
for what to do until memorials could be planned to celebrate
Sarah’s life, Roger and I wound up in the 4-Runner headed up
to the mouth of Big Tujunga Canyon, several miles from where
Sarah and her car had been discovered. As soon as we turned
up the highway, a large red tail hawk found its way to a
tree in the wash. I watched as it landed, and somehow found
it comforting. Then I remembered: I know why the falcon
and bird of prey fly, and there is another bird in the sky
looking over those of us who knew and loved Sarah Alarid.
I
Know Why The Falcon Fly
by Cecile Page Vargo
On the day we buried my friend, Pam, a falcon flew
just as the last words were said over her entire family. Her
husband had killed them all, including himself, but the
falcon told us she was free and safe at last. Since that
day…a falcon or hawk appears regularly to me at crucial
times in my life…and I know all is well.
On the day after a rainy spell, perhaps a year or so later,
the air was still chilly, and damp. I grabbed a quilt and
sat under a homemade rose arbor where I had a bench. I was
engrossed in a fictional account of a woman who chose a new
life and a new identity so she would not be a victim of
spousal abuse at the hands of her policeman husband. I was
in tears through most of it, thinking of my beloved friend
and her two teenage boys. Suddenly, a disturbance in the sky
above caught my eye. It was two crows circling a falcon and
teasing it. Instantly, I was at peace….Pam was looking over
me.
On many a day, I traveled the backcountry leading tours and
I was often greeted with a falcon or hawk along the way….and
I smiled. On one particular trip we were headed into
Kernville for a river rafting jaunt. I spied the falcon and
felt comforted, once again. Later when our raft was turned
over in an almost class IV rapid, I realized that Pam was
with me once again, trying to tell me that I would have a
little adventure…and I was safe.
On the day my son was to go to trial for a car accident in
which one person was killed, as we drove past Hansen Dam on
the 210, a falcon flew over our vehicle and once again I
knew Pam was guiding me and I laughed. Minutes before we had
left the house, the phone rang, and they had released my son
because there was new evidence that a third vehicle had been
involved and had hit and ran. We still had a long road ahead
of us…but ultimately my son was out of the woods….and the
falcon’s timely appearance as we went to pick him up from
the courthouse where he never stood trial…I was at peace.
On the day we went to Cerro Gordo with a tour, the first
one after the owner of the old town had died, two falcons
flew over before we hit the Yellow Grade Road….and then
again at the cemetery where Jody was buried. Before my
friend Pam was so tragically killed, I had offered her a
safe house at Cerro Gordo, not realizing that she really
needed one. Had she done so she would have been alive and
perhaps on this trip with me. Now the two falcons laughed at
me and provided comfort and I realized that Jody and Pam had
met up at last, and all was well and good.
On the day we went to Bodie, years later, at the start of
the stamp mill tour, before park aide Chris could don her
Mrs. Hoover hat and take us back to the early 1900’s, a
falcon landed on one of the tin buildings and watched us the
whole time. Pam looked after me at my “other” ghost town, as
well, and I was comforted, and mildly amused at the same
time.
On the day we took a group to the ghost town of Masonic, I
slipped down a dirt road to the side, by myself. The little
clearing between the road and the meadow was the site where
my 6 month old dog Jake had experienced his first camping
trip and finally realized that he was supposed to lift his
leg to pee instead of squat like his big doggie sister
Jessie. The log he learned to lift his leg on was long gone,
but the clearing was still there and evidence that many had
camped in our private little spot over the years since. It
was several years later, and a few months after we had put
Jake down at the ripe old age of 15 ½. As I said a prayer
for Jake, and shed a tear or two, two smaller birds, perhaps
prairie falcons, swooped over me and around me then landed
in the aspens. I knew in an instant, it wasn’t Pam, nor was
it Jody…it was my beloved dogs, and they wanted me to know
they were happy and free and I no longer worried.
On the day I walked the mouth of Big Tujunga Canyon with a
friend, I told her these stories and a few more…about the
falcon or hawk that followed me when I needed them most in
my life. Suddenly, the friend was shouting, “Look, Cecile,
there’s one now!” and I smiled.
On the day four years ago, as I opened my kitchen door with
trash in my hand to take to the bin, I heard the crows…and I
heard another bird. At first I thought it was a water fowl
on its way to the wash, since we had seen several on our
walk a couple of days before. Then I heard the cry more
distinctly, and realized it was the sound of a bird of prey.
I watched as the crows circled the neighbor's pine tree over
and over and cackled and cawed. Then finally I saw it…the
falcon sat on a branch way up high, waiting to tell
me…"don’t worry….times are hard right now with the economy
and Roger’s unemployment…but I am here as always…and all
will be well" I called Roger to see...but the bird was on
it's way, making his familiar sound.
I know why the falcon fly….. and they are my bird of P R A
Y……
Innumerable times since I wrote this, the falcon and hawk
have continued to fly over me at crucial times in my life a
comforting reminder that those I have lost are still with
me when I need them the most.
