Wednesday, January 28, 2009

The Snow and the Tree

The one thing I love about the snow is the way a fresh falling blankets the trees and ground and even the grungy streets and sidewalks. The crisp, white purity doesn't last long once the snow stops falling, but for a short while everything looks perfect. Today as the snow was falling (before the sleet and rain and ice) I was thinking how that was analogy for life. Life is often drab and bleak and colorless, but even in the midst of it all there are those few moments when everything is covered by soft, sparkling white. These moments seem few and far between, but I'm learning to look for and find them more often. They are the few quiet (or loud) moments when I don't remember just how difficult and painful life is...a funny antic by one of the girls, a smile from my infant son, a kind note from a friend, a phone call, a good book, a glass of wine and a delicious steaming piece of lasagna. Little things, and yet they have the power to make one small moment in time glisten.

In addition to these thoughts I was also thinking how my mom and her life were like a tree. (Forgive me, but I often think in analogies.) She was strong, nurturing, a haven for many living things - people and plants! Now she seems stripped of what makes her herself, her leaves and flowers and fruit. She is the stark, bare tree we see in winter. I believe that some day those leaves and flowers and fruit will be restored ans she will be herself again, whole and happy and beautiful, but it may not happen in this life on this earth. I believe with all my heart that my mom has a beautiful soul that will live on forever in heaven. She will be restored again. For now though, it is painful, so painful, to see her in this condition. When we lose a loved one it's like the tree is cut down. It's gone, and for a while everything looks strange because there is a gap, a large empty space where it belongs. Gradually, however, we get used to the tree being gone and eventually we are able to live without being shocked or startled every time we look up and see the tree is no longer there. In this case however, the tree appears dead, but it is still there. We see it there and it is excruciatingly painful to see it no longer green and thriving and with little hope of ever returning to its previous glory. Instead of gradually getting used to its absence we are blinded day after day with the painful sight of the barren and lifeless tree. This is a picture of what it is like living with my mom the way she is, awake but not aware, there, but not really there, looking like herself, but not the person we know and love. And oh how I miss her.

Three months. It's been three months tonight since I said goodbye to her for the last time and she spoke back to me. I've adapted some to the pain, to the loss, but it still hurts, still throbs. What I wouldn't give to hear her voice even one more time.

1 comment:

  1. Wow Em, Amazing analogy. It completely fits! Thanks for the transparency. Love you!

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