The little town I live in is nestled in the foothills of Mount Rainier on a plateau. Hiking Mount Peak is a climb many locals frequently do when they want to get in shape.

I had heard it was a beautiful but challenging hike, so one morning my son and I decided to climb Mt. Peak. It is not like I never exercise. I garden, I go for walks, I work around the house.

But just a few feet up the trail I realized I was not in the best of shape. I was out of breath from hiking straight up a hill instead of on level ground. It was painful and hard. I absolutely hated it!

I complained to my son that I was in my 50s not 20s, and it may be too intense of a hike for me. About that time a woman in her 60s passed us going up.

I almost quit just before the last hill. I just could not catch my breath and realized the mild asthma I have was more severe from the exertion of this climb.

Photos from Gayle Roberts’ hike up Mount Peak in the foothills of Mount Rainier.

My son offered to let me quit, but said, “You know, I think we have only one more hill left, and the view will be worth it.” So on we climbed.

When we got to the top, the view was amazing! Looking at how far I had climbed, I realized I couldn’t have made that climb alone.

I needed someone to hike it with me, encourage me when I felt I couldn’t go on, and stop with me when I needed to.

On the hike down, I began to think about my life and the difficult climb I am in right now; caring for my mother who has dementia.

It is overwhelmingly painful to be a family caregiver and watch someone you love slowly get worse. After three hospitalizations in just two weeks, we made the difficult decision to place Mom in hospice.

I am determined to be there for my mother. Being with her at this time matters greatly, to her and to me. This is one of the most difficult climbs I have ever made.

And just like my hike up Mount Peak, I think it is important that I not try to do this climb alone. Family can walk with me, friends, even professionals walk along at times.

I need to remember that I can stop and rest when I need to. After all, this isn’t a race. I rest when I need to. When I am ready, I stand back up, and start climbing again.

I know one day we will turn a corner, and realize we have made it to the top. That will be the day when I can go no further with Mom; she will have to climb to the higher elevation without me.

I take comfort in my belief that she will be met by loved ones who have gone on ahead of her.

Caregiving has demanded of me the best that I have – body, mind, and soul. And to be honest, at times I have whined, complained, and said: “I can’t do this.” The mild problems I have in the lower lands – anxiety, fear, melancholy – have become much worse when I am pushed to my limits.

But I am doing this. One day, one step at a time, I am doing this. When I get to the top I know I will be pleased that I did my very best for Mom.

That I didn’t turn away and let someone else do what I could not. I think when I get to the top of this climb,

I will realize I am stronger than I ever thought I was.