Jumping in a Lake (with My Son): A Memorial

I lost my son, Alex, on May 15, 2023. Alex was just 32 years old.

*
Every August for more than 20 years, my family and I have spent a week or two on Indian Lake, in New York’s Adirondack State Park. Most years, it’s the best week of the year. And most years, my kids have been here with us. And most years, we share this vacation with friends and family.
And just about every year, at some point during our stay, we make a trip across the lake to “The Rocks” - a beautiful rocky point that juts out into the lake, on which we can sunbathe, eat and laugh, and off of which we can leap and swim. It’s one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve loved watching my young kids and nieces and nephews muster the nerve to leap. And I’ve loved watching them leap. And I’ve loved, in more recent years, sitting with one or more of my grown kids on The Rocks and discussing life, as we take in the spectacular view under a big Adirondack sky.

Early on this brilliant, sunny afternoon – during this wonderful but complicated, evocative and emotional visit to Indian Lake, NY – I canoed across Indian Lake to The Rocks. I brought a small bag of Alex’s ashes, with an intention to honor Alex and Alex’s memory somehow.

This excursion – this trip and this visit - was, in some ways, very heavy. Of course. But I am grateful that it was also a deeply moving and powerful experience. It was, in some ways (and to my pleasant surprise) uplifting. A powerful reminder of Alex at his best and happiest. A powerful reminder of good times with Alex and so many people I (we) love.

As I canoed across the lake, I thought - with delight and appreciation - about our many summers together on Indian Lake. As I paddled, I sang out loud – a medley of Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love,” Neil Young’s “After the Gold Rush,” Fountains of Wayne’s “Better Things,” Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay,” Bob Dylan’s “Everything is Broken,” Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” and Tom Petty’s “Wild Flowers.”

“You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free.”

I was seriously moved when The Rocks came into view. It’s been such a good place for me and for us for so long. I thought: “The promised land.” A little grandiose, I thought, but at this moment, it works.

When I arrived, I parked the canoe around back, in our usual spot. I disembarked, and then I climbed up a short, steep rockface to the summit. (I was reassured to discover that I can still make the climb with relative ease.) As always, I was struck as the magnificent view of the lake presented itself as I came over the hill.

I took a long look around. So beautiful. More beautiful than I’d remembered.

I cried a little.

I love this spot because it is innately beautiful. But more than that, I love this spot because it has reliably been a site of adventure and joy and laughter and peace. I thought of my brother Johnny joyfully soaking up the scene and the sunlight. I thought of my (then) young daughter Leah singing “The Sun Will Come Up Tomorrow” or “Frank Mills” a little too loudly in her (very good) Broadway musical voice. I thought of our friend David declaring: “I’ve got a boat! Who wants to go to The Rocks?” I thought of various kids at various ages nervously getting up the nerve to take a leap.

It’s a place (and a crowd) that made Alex (and me) happy. And “happiness” was not a given for Alex. As he said more than once, “happiness isn’t really my brand.”
I was very glad to be there. What a privilege.

*

I made my way into the woods that surround The Rocks. I found a sweet spot among three trees. I dug a small hole with a spoon, and I filled the hole with a few spoonfuls of Alex’s ashes. And I covered the hole with dirt.

I paused to acknowledge that this was another meaningful (and difficult) moment of acceptance. A (still reluctant) acknowledgement that this is real. An acknowledgement that Alex is really gone.

I found a substantial rock, and I placed it on top of the spot where I’d buried Alex’s ashes. My hope is that we will be able to find this spot when we return next year and the year after that. Either way, I feel glad to know that, in a meaningful way, Alex will remain a presence at that meaningful place.

I stood over the marker (the rock), and I said out loud the names of the many friends and family members who have regularly enjoyed this place with us. Leah, Tim, Katherine, Thora, Mike, Wanda, Matt, Sophie, Johnny, David, Alexandra, Carl, Beth, Josh, Julian, Ben, Jack and Emma. And Alex Koechlin.

“We’re all here,” I said. “We all love you. And we’ll all carry on with you in our minds, our hearts and our bones. We’ll do our best.”

And then I shared a cigarette with Alex.

I imagined, at that moment, what Alex might have to say if he were there with me in person. He’d offer an irreverent wisecrack of some kind for sure. “OK, Tim. I’d think about moving this along. The people are getting restless. They’re ready to swim.” Alex knew how to break the tension with a joke. (It is also true, of course, that he knew how to elevate the tension with a joke! Elevating the tension was one of his superpowers.)

And then I said, out loud “OK!” And nodded subtly. I took the remaining ashes (in a small plastic bag). I made my way out of the woods and back onto The Rocks, and I launched myself off of the cliff. Alex and me. What a thrill.

Alex and me.

And when I resurfaced, I let the ashes go, and I watched as they dissipated in the water, and then disappeared.

Very heavy. But it immediately felt right and good.

And it turns out that it’s difficult to sob and swim at the same time.

*

So, Alex now has spot in the woods by The Rocks and he will, in a small way, occupy and transform the lake. I hope he’s glad about that. I am.

I wish that all of our beloved companions and playmates had been there in person. They were there in spirit, for sure. A very powerful spirit.

I hope, of course, every minute of every day, that Alex is resting in peace.

And wherever he is, I hope he will save a spot for me.