The next morning, she said she would be leaving early, so I did not expect to see her, but what I found in her place was much more profound. Wrapped in a silk prayer scarf was a family photo and a note I assume was saying goodbye to the love of her life. The photo was one that we all have, some family outing, parents surrounded by their children, all smiles, all comfortable in the fact that their whole world is in that picture.

For the rest of the expedition, as I toiled up and down the mountain, combating my own triumphs and tragedies, I carried that photo, along with a photo of my own family, often pulling them out to compare the faces, and thinking of how life can turn in a instant.

For two months I did this, until the 25th of May. On this morning, as I made my way to the summit once again, I looked down the face where Peter fell. I watched the sun rise over where his resting place used to be, and thought about the love one feels for a father, or a son, or a daughter, or a wife or girlfriend. All that infinite possibility ended here for him, and I was to be the final messenger.

I put these thoughts aside until I was on my way back down from the top. Tired and weary, I stopped on the Balcony to rest and reflect that this was where I first saw Peter last year, then just a faceless body on a mountain. And now, pulling out the package from my pack and walking to the edge, understanding that I was the one that was here now to bear witness. I threw the envelope over the side, watching it go, sliding softly down, allowing Peter one last vist with his family.

I kept my promise Ingrid. I did the best I could for your family and yourself and I hope, with this, that people understand that mountains are the most beautiful, and at the same time the most haunting places on earth.

To all of you who followed along with prayers, hopes and love, know that it was well-received by all of us.

Till next time...

— Luis Benitez, Alpine Ascents International Guide and MountainZone.com Correspondent

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