I figured that even if I couldn’t get out of the mud, if I got back to the car I could turn on the heater for warmth until dawn and then flag someone down on their morning commute. The walk back was cold and lonely. In the dead of night there were no cars out and about, and even most of the night birds were unusually quiet. The only assurance that I wasn’t alone was the periodic hooting of two bears, calling back and forth from the shallow hills on either side of me. I doubted that they were making plans to meet up in the middle for a late-night snack, but I picked up the pace all the same. As I made my way through the darkness, my thoughts turned back to my wife, Erin. I wondered what she must be thinking and feeling at that moment. “Does she even know I’m gone?” I asked aloud, to break up the eerie silence. “How in the world can I be a father?” I continued. “I don’t know the slightest thing about raising a kid. I’m an unfit parent.” A bear hooted again off in the distance, and I responded in kind, “I’m glad you agree!”
