I have a friend who has no fear of heights. None whatsoever. I learned this on a hiking trip to the mountains where we got adventurous, wandered off the trail, and another friend and I sent him up over a rock to see if there was a way up.

“Yeah, there’s a way up here.” he said. As I scrambled over a large rock (that was situated just right so it was really hard to double back to get down) I realized his definition of “a way up” and mine were radically different. His involved peril. Mine does not.

William has no fear of heights. At least not when overshadowed by the grief of his loss.

Anyway, he’s up higher than I ever care to climb. I get nervous cleaning my gutters.