The Oregon Trail: Gerald Hyland

April 20th, 1861; Oregon City~

       I found this book seventeen years after the journey to Oregon. I read through this, and memories soared as I saw my Old handwriting, my old rants, and old times with my family and Michael.

       I think one of the reason why I stopped writing is because Michael's death hit me hard, and that was actually the first time someone close to me passed away. His death was at the age of 25 - too young, in my opinion. He was a great man: intelligent, strong-willed, stubborn as a mule, yet open-minded, a great storyteller, and an even better listener. Looking back, he was the closest person I've had. Unforgettable, he was.

       Of course, after I got to Oregon City, I settled down near my family. I built my own house and started writing my own stories. They were published, I made money, and it was everything I ever wanted. Still, it would've been better if the trip wasn't as rough. Michael wasn't the only person who died, but the others who died were from the other families that I wasn't very close too.

       It took a while until I started talking to new people. I made some friends, and they made good company, but none of them really knew me. None of them cared to listen for long. But hey, I can't complain. They helped me out when I needed it, and I helped them when they needed it.

       I guess you could say that I never found anyone with a similar mindset. When I talked to Michael, he understood me. He heard me out, and I heard him out. We talked about topics ranging from the simplest things to topics that we wouldn't dare discuss with anyone else - not even family.

       Yet, I lived on without him. I lived a decent life, and now I'm 44, one of the eldest in the area. Most of the friends I've made have already passed from natural causes, except for Richard who died from food poisoning. He was kind of a jerk anyways.

       I'm not expected to last too much longer; most people die in their early 40s if we're talking about old age. Since that is the case, I'll empty out my thoughts here~

       I miss my parents, but I'm thankful they had a peaceful death. Both of them passed in their sleep. They looked so calm.

       I hope my sister lives on happily in Washington with her husband, Quin. He's a lucky man, and she's a lucky lady. Hopefully her optimism - which is now tamed and not "overbearing" - will keep her going when I am gone.

       I wish Crispin luck with his farming and health. He got married as well, and he and his wife live happily on their farm where they tend to the land and care for their own horses. He's really living his life, I'll tell you.

       I'd also like to talk about Michael, whom I've never talked about before since the memories were too great. I remember the first time I saw him. I remember how his eyes shone as he spoke and as he listened. I remember the passion he displayed as he talked about something he truly cared about, and I remember how he got protective whenever I ranted to him (with him being the only person I've really ranted to).

       I remember hearing him talking about slaves and Native Americans being treated unfairly and how he talked about them. I remember the night we sat upon the ledge at Scott's Bluff. I remember the beautiful sunset we watched and how I held him when it got dark. I remember how he bought a cider cake for us to share, then how he baked the same kind of cake for just the two of us.

       I remember him getting ill and getting frustrated with how he couldn't be helpful. I remember the arguments we've had when I wanted him to rest and how he struggled to refuse. I remember the several nights I've held his frail and weak body to try to keep him warm. I remember...

       I remember yelling at him to get into the wagon before we crossed the rivers. I remembered him shouting back. I remember worrying if I said the wrong thing. I remember the splash I've heard when the one wagon got stuck. I remember seeing his already tired body being tossed through the currents. I remember Crispin retrieving his already dead body.

       I remember holding his limp body within the wagon. I remember the tears breaking free as I recalled all the memories we've shared. I remember holding him close with desperate hope that he was gone. I remember hoping that I'll wake up and see him beside me. I remember sobbing and incoherently yelling as I held him closer. I remember calming down after several hours of anguish. I remember crying softly as I slowly realize that he's gone.

       I realized that Michael has died.

       I remember being unable to walk as Crispin came to get me. I remember being stiff and tired as I followed him to the grave the family dug. I remember watching them put his ragged body into the hole. I remember hearing their words - I haven't a clue to what they were. I remember being unable to speak. I remember placing the rest of the cider cake beside his cold stiff body. I remember how they carefully buried my greatest pal.

       Even now, I'm still shedding tears recalling these memories. It's only stronger now that I'm putting it to words, something that I've never done before. I couldn't speak about it ; the memories were always too strong. Now I have placed my emotions into words so that these unsaid thoughts buzzing through my head won't be present as I pass in my sleep when the time comes.

       Let's hope that we'll reunite again someday.