We cut down a 40 foot redwood tree in our backyard this week. It was over 20 years old and stood proudly in the center of our backyard. We've noticed for a while that the tree was damaging the patio in the backyard, so we hired a tree company to prune back the roots. Unfortunately, root pruning was not possible and the tree would continue to cause damage to the patio and likely invade the pool and house foundation. Over the years, I've been the "Lorax" in my house insisting that when the pool was built that none of the trees were damaged and managing the complaints of tree cleanup. Our neighbor who lives behind us, much to my shock, was delighted to see the tree being removed. He said he was tired of the mess. On the morning it was removed, I cried. It was such a beautiful tree, a focal point in the yard and it kept the backyard and house shaded. It probably would have been easier if I'd had a moment to consider the tree removal, but it was only a few days after getting the news that the company arrived to remove it. I'm a firm supporter of the "denial" phase when working through loss and grief; I think we all need a moment to catch our breath, to consider, and absorb information before working through the other stages. Denial gets a bad rap - we tend to think it's a negative for "someone to be in denial" but I think to survive the various losses in our lives we need moments of denial.
There is a void now in the backyard with only an ugly stump where the tree once stood. I continue to grieve the loss of the tree. I have all the usual feelings denial, depression, anger, and remorse - not necessarily in that order There is a pattern to my grieving, it's painful and familiar. I've seen it in myself and others; although it seems to vary somewhat in each of us. For me, the feeling of despair can be quite overwhelming - it's like the air is quickly sucked out and I'm not sure if I'll ever feel happy again.Being part of the ALS community and having many friends that are caregivers or patients living with ALS makes you the witness of grief. It's a very raw emotion, it brings out all that you are good and bad, leaving you incredibly exposed. A dear friend who has her own serious health condition described it as "removing the veil." Truly the veil is removed and our most basic self is exposed and the world around us appears differently.
The world appears differently because the things we dreamed of, planned on and hoped for are all changed. We all talk of "5 years from now" or "when I retire" or "on our 50th anniversary" these discussion stop or drastically change when you're given an ALS diagnosis. You must begin the painful process of looking at things more immediate: today, next month or next year. This change in focus really does put life in perspective and things that once seemed so important lose their appeal. This is not done overnight and after almost three years I still mourn the loss of our past life along with all its hopes and dreams.
The removal of the veil however does not come without some grace. You begin to find the wonder and beauty in the moment. You watch the birds in the feeder outside your window, laugh at the dog's antics and enjoy your favorite cup of tea - just a little more. As I write this I'm looking forward to our drive out to Folsom today to get cronuts at BJ Cinnamon's - yep, they are delicious. So, there is pleasure in everyday things and we continue work on focusing on the positives.
Patrick is anxious to "fix" the tree area in the backyard. So, he's busy considering options to make it look nice. I haven't quite moved into the "fix it" mode, I'm still sort of digesting the loss. I'm sure we can salvage it somehow although it will never be the same as the beautiful redwood tree. I'll keep you posted on the transformation.
Enjoy your day today! There are plenty of small wonders to behold!
