By: Tonya Renée Bray
“C’mere”
I felt like I was being watched but wasn’t sure by whom. I had just taught a children’s ski lesson, my first lesson as a ski instructor at Mountain High. My lesson was with a child experiencing life on the autism spectrum. I had no experience whatsoever but was pulling from conversations I’d had over many a dinner with a dear friend of mine who has a Master’s in special education. I used words and ideas to try to help this beautiful child to learn how to ski in spite of his situation in life.
“Hey, c’mere”
Is he calling a dog, or is he calling me?
I skied over to the Supervisor calling me. Not knowing much about Terry, and being fully annoyed at how I was being spoken to, and fully expecting to get lectured for my horrible teaching, he said,
“We could use you in Adaptive.”
“What is Adaptive?” I really had no idea. Mountain High has an incredible adaptive ski program for people who aren’t able to ski on their own without support. From children on the autism spectrum to people missing limbs and paralyzed or blindness.
This was the beginning of my story with Terry Bottorff.
I have worked as a ski instructor at Mountain High for the past 3 years. Last season was the season of Terry for me.
Each morning I’d walk the steep road to the ski school and stop at the managers’ office, poke my head in, and if he was in, I’d catch him quickly hiding his can of Vienna sausages in the drawer, pretending I wouldn’t see him eating his favorite junk food. He always looked so guilty and I would scold him, but we laughed about it. I am a Health Coach and eat plant based, all of these things he knew. One thing I knew: Terry wasn’t going to change a thing. No matter what.
I spent a great deal of time with Terry discussing lessons, clients, instructors and of course telling him to quit smoking. Every time I saw him. We had some sort of understanding. Two people couldn’t be more different, but we got on as if we were birds of a feather.
I lovingly called Terry “Oscar the Grouch”. Terry was a well-lived human. He looked angry much of the time, but beneath the facade of toughness there lived the softest, kindest heart one could ever know. Terry had seen it all in life and had experienced the worst life can hand a person. I can’t get into all he had been through but suffice to say that prematurely losing loved ones and war were amongst his experiences that clearly shaped his personality.
My fellow ski instructors were often vexed with Terry’s gruffness, borderline rudeness. Terry had little patience with certain people and situations, and was happy to voice his opinions to anyone within hearing distance. When people would remark about his comments, I would just say, that’s Terry, he’ll get over it and so should you. What most people missed about Terry was the gentle human inside that only wanted to make sure that people had a great experience in life and if someone was hindering in that in some way, he’d be grumpy. He had his triggers, I knew them, as did his chosen people, but most walked right into them.
Terry was suffering in the last years of his life since I met him. He didn’t talk much about it, but the physical pain he was in was clearly a catalyst for his moodiness.
Last season, sometime in 2024, Terry jumped on his favorite Rossignol Hero skis and rode up Snowflake chair lift. I was surprised to see him on skis. He’d typically get on the sit-ski, but never on his actual skis. I was in a chair on the lift above him with an adaptive student as he skied below and soon after crashed in a pile. I yelled out “I saw that!” And he said “you didn’t see anything” and I knew. I knew. I think I may have had a tear, because I knew that fall was indicative of two things:
- His strong desire to ski and
- The magnitude of his physical pain that was keeping him from it.
Sitting on the couch in the dark living room looking at all the guitars, Alex playing the rare Stratocaster, Terry looking on, talking with Alex about tube amps and what sounded the best was a rare and special moment. I was picking up a guitar to borrow so I could strum a bit at home. Alex came with me, and we were serenaded, we played and we talked. It was one special time with Terry when he was at home, off-guard, and bubbling with joy. Because if you knew Terry, music was in his veins, it’s what made his heart beat.
My dear friend Jaqueline and I paid Terry a visit last summer, 2023. We both had a certain yen for Terry. Some kind of endearing love for a man we both knew was special in some way. There was some kind of esoteric connection with Terry. An understanding of sorts. A soul-level connection that evades words. Painful life experiences transcend the present. Even if the pain was caused in different ways, not so much trauma bonding but a deep understanding pervades. Our conversations meandered from raspberries, wind, remodeling the kitchen, the old days, explaining photographs on the wall to the filled up trailer waiting for someone to clean it out. He told us how much money he spent on replacing the American flag at the top of his driveway over and over again because of the wind.
If you experienced Terry’s belief in you, I share that feeling. When Terry believed in you, he supported you and did little things for you that no one else ever would. He wanted people to be their best and to succeed and he could spot talent- whatever the talent- he would latch onto it. Terry believed in us.
I will miss his physical presence at the Mountain High ski school. And so will all of the adaptive instructors and adaptive students who were deeply touched by him. And the children.
Terry believed in us, in you. May his spirit shine for you as he did for me.
I can still hear Terry calling out to me, “C’mere”. It’s like a funny dream, a cartoon, I know we would be laughing about it right now if we could talk in person.
