Here it is again. I am talking about that dead tree.
We went to the firework show on the 4th of July. There was a large section of grass that was vacant and looked like a good spot to sit. There were some in our group who thought that one of the big trees would get in our way of the view. Others (including me) insisted that the fireworks would be much higher and we would be able to see fine.
As the fireworks started I found that some of the fireworks were well above the tree, but many were below and I didn't have a great vantage point. Although they were bright, the tree was still blocking a full view of it. I kept thinking: "That stupid tree. I didn't think it would be in the way." I was sure the fireworks would be higher and I wouldn't even notice the tree there. I found myself looking at the tree instead of the fireworks; not the entire time, but for a little while. Because it was dark outside and I could only see the silouette of the tree, it looked dead. It would have looked green in the sunlight, but the darkness made it appear dead.
This dead tree being in the way of the fireworks paralleled a thought that has evolved in my mind over the last year.
At first, I thought "this" won't "get in the way" of my "normal" life. (lost of quotes there....) All of those quotations marks have changed dramatically for me over the last year. I didn't want "this" meaning the grief, pain, sorrow, yearning, awfulness, etc, to overshadow and put a damper on my life. I wanted to tie it up in a pretty box with a perfect little bow and put it on a shelf. I would look at it, but it wouldn't "bother" me forever. It would be a reminder of something beautiful and fulfilling. I think I clung to this false idea because I felt like I was given a life sentence with Eli's diagnosis and I was trying to run away from it. I knew that he was going to die and I would enter a new world that scared me (and scarred me) and I didn't want to do it. I heard things like "grief never ends" and "it never gets better." By the way, only one of those statements in true. The other is a definitely not. But, either way, I was scared because the life I had lived and the life I was planning to live in the future didn't include death and cemeteries and unfinished business and a whole slew of other things that were not appealing. I felt I was willing to pass through the fire only if the burning stopped to my liking and if I could go back to my previous life. That is like saying I don't mind if you cut my arm off, but I don't want it to bleed a lot or hurt too much.....oh, and you have to give it back when you are done....and I would prefer no scar....thank you. That's not how it works.
When I think of the dead tree I think of my grief. I didn't want it to get in the way of the beauty of my current life. I thought it would. I was willing to give it space and time, but not too much space and not too much time and certainly not in a place where it would block my view of the fireworks! When this journey began a year ago, I thought it wouldn't "get in the way." Not after awhile anyways. I thought I would be baking Christmas cookies and spending time with my family...snuggling and kissing my children and living in gratitude for all the God had given me. That's not exactly what happened last Christmas. I couldn't believe how big the tree was. I couldn't believe how it blocked everything. I was angry and surprised and confused and wondered how I would live my life with such a dead tree looming in front of everything else I wanted to see.
But, the tree isn't really dead. It just looks that way in the dark. The tree causes pain but is also a teacher. It causes longing, put also patience. It feels heavy, but also shades you from so many distratctions in the world. It makes you find places in your soul (good and bad), you didn' t know existed. The tree is a reminder of the pain and also the growth, and it certainly isn't dead. Dead things don't grow the way the tree has helped me grow. Dead things do not give life. And this tree has given me life. Not the life I thought I would have. Not the life I thought would be best. But the life God always intended for me and for Eli. Eli was not a deviation in my path. He is my path. It is not a taker of my happiness, but rather an expander of all things good and beautiful. Painful, yes; difficult, yes; unbearable at times, yes, but never evil; never bad, and certainly never in the way.
