Families Search for Their Missing Sons and Answers
By Jim Belshaw
Of the Journal
Their sons disappeared into a snowy mountain the way soldiers disappear into the miasma of war. No trace, no tracks, no clues. As the missing always do, they left behind only questions and mysteries and an aching emptiness.
"Not knowing is the hardest part," Laura George said Friday, 36 days after her son, Michael, disappeared in a blizzard in southern Colorado. "We have to find them. We have to find out what happened to them. Our minds are in such torment."
Michael George, 27, and his childhood pal, Kyle Kerschen, also 27, have been missing since Jan. 4, when they went snowboarding at Wolf Creek Ski Area in Colorado.
Hampered by severe storms, search efforts were delayed and when finally under way found not a trace of Michael George and Kyle Kerschen.
The families hired professional trackers who continue the search now, the official attempt to find the missing snowboarders having ended.
Friends held fundraisers to help pay for the trackers and helicopter support.
Another will be held today from 11 a.m to 5 p.m., at the Gene MarieZ Salon, 9729 Menaul NE. Sixteen hair stylists will hold a "cut-a-thon," charging $10 for children and $20 for adults. All proceeds will go toward search expenses.
When the families are immersed in the details of search planning, the emptiness is better managed. When time slows and no such details engage the moment, the emptiness cannot be escaped.
"It's minute to minute dealing with it," Laura George said. "We're OK when there's activity going on, but when nothing is happening, sometimes I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to face the day. But I do. For him. I know what I need to do for him."
Late last week, the families held a meeting to discuss the search for their sons.
Because of the snow depth and the continual pummeling of the mountain by storms, it's hard to determine where to search. There is nothing to guide them.
"We ask how two young men can disappear like that," George said. "We could see one being injured and one trying to get help, but we can't understand how both could disappear with no sign."
They know the snow depth when the boys went missing; they know how much snow has fallen since. Now they need a melting, a drop in the depth to the point where something— a snowboard, perhaps— will peek through the crust and give them a sign.
But they know, too, that much time has gone by.
"We've realized as each day passes what the outcome will be when we do find them," she said. "As a mother, you still want to hold on to some hope that we'll find them alive, a miracle ... but too much time has passed for that."
So the passage of time mitigates against a miracle, and brings something awful to contemplate in its stead.
"My fear ... I want to find them before Mother Nature does," she said.
They expect a "weather window" in the next three to four weeks, a warming trend that will melt snow.
"But with the snowmelt and visibility also come animals," George said. "We have trackers on the mountain right now. Already they're seeing quite a few animal tracks. We have to find them before the animals do ... the thought of that ... I just can't tell you."
An abiding religious faith sustains them. A community that has rallied to them is "almost too much to comprehend." Friends and relatives, strangers from nearby and across the country write and call, offering help and prayers.
It's difficult to focus, she said. They have jobs, and people at work have been understanding, but it's hard to go back. Her son is everywhere.
She sees him at the gym, where he was her workout partner. She sees his photo in every room of her home.
"I can't walk by a picture of him without dropping to my knees and praying," she said. "I wear his clothes so I can smell him. His belongings are here and I just scoop them up and hold them. I wear his jacket constantly."
Always there is the ache of not knowing, questions that refuse to surrender answers.
Always there is the need to bring them home.
"That need to know goes deep into your soul and it doesn't let go," she said. "I can't get through 10 minutes without thinking about it. It's there constantly. It never leaves you, it never leaves you."
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