La Salvation
2 years ago
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Life...and stuff.
Covered by their winter abundance, the boughs droop to the ground in stress. The sky is close and the air is moist on my face as I move through the trees. I'm awake before the snowcat and the snow is deep and sticky and wet on the trail. Feeling the weight of the winter on my feet and life's burdens on my shoulders, my movement is slow and my heart feels heavy.
They say that when one sense is limited another gets amplified. And, for me this morning, the thick fog impairs my vision enough that I can hear, out loud, the thoughts cycling through my head ... I've known her my whole life and now she's gone. Her family will miss her but she has suffered so much lately, the cancer and subsequent treatment and sudden loss of her husband ultimately too much for her... Then, I think about Morgan, cancer free and recovering from a double mastectomy at age 16. That girl is beautiful, feisty, and tough as nails. . . My sister and her daughter with broken hearts, as they've watched a loved one be replaced by an unrecognizable entity ravaged by addiction . . . A wife, not even close to complete since the death of her husband . . .
I feel guilty for feeling sorry for myself when others are dealing with so much more. . .Saying goodbye to parts of themselves, their mothers, their lost children, their souls, their soulmates, their security. How can I justify my lost sleep and tears? I can, because all of these others are part of me, part of what makes me...well, me. Their loss is my loss and I feel their broken hearts and I am powerless to resolve it for them. Loving them seems like peanuts compared to what I would offer if I could.
With tired legs, I climb the hill and watch the trees occasionally lose the battle and drop their burdens to the ground. Suddenly free, these branches whip upward before returning to their natural position while others continue to fight against the piles of snow that threaten them.
It occurs to me that sometimes I am one tree, fighting the good fight and sometimes I am another, giving in to the weight of the snow and for a minute I consider how I can, more often, be the first tree, stalwart and strong.
Then, I realize that though I am weary, I am still moving and making progress through the trees. I have reached the summit and have begun the decline that would eventually take me back to my vehicle. As I hike, my steps are quicker and my stride opens up to cover more distance with each turnover until I am running down the hillside, powder up to my thighs, my snowshoes sliding with each footfall. I have to move quickly now that gravity is aiding my descent and I am laughing, out loud, with the joy of the physical freedom and the relief of stresses having been processed throughout my climb.
I know now that loving them is enough and that even if a few of my branches fall I can still stand strong against the elements and protect the smaller trees on the downhill slope.
They say that when one sense is limited another gets amplified. And, for me this morning, the thick fog impairs my vision enough that I can hear, out loud, the thoughts cycling through my head ... I've known her my whole life and now she's gone. Her family will miss her but she has suffered so much lately, the cancer and subsequent treatment and sudden loss of her husband ultimately too much for her... Then, I think about Morgan, cancer free and recovering from a double mastectomy at age 16. That girl is beautiful, feisty, and tough as nails. . . My sister and her daughter with broken hearts, as they've watched a loved one be replaced by an unrecognizable entity ravaged by addiction . . . A wife, not even close to complete since the death of her husband . . .
I feel guilty for feeling sorry for myself when others are dealing with so much more. . .Saying goodbye to parts of themselves, their mothers, their lost children, their souls, their soulmates, their security. How can I justify my lost sleep and tears? I can, because all of these others are part of me, part of what makes me...well, me. Their loss is my loss and I feel their broken hearts and I am powerless to resolve it for them. Loving them seems like peanuts compared to what I would offer if I could.
With tired legs, I climb the hill and watch the trees occasionally lose the battle and drop their burdens to the ground. Suddenly free, these branches whip upward before returning to their natural position while others continue to fight against the piles of snow that threaten them.
It occurs to me that sometimes I am one tree, fighting the good fight and sometimes I am another, giving in to the weight of the snow and for a minute I consider how I can, more often, be the first tree, stalwart and strong.
Then, I realize that though I am weary, I am still moving and making progress through the trees. I have reached the summit and have begun the decline that would eventually take me back to my vehicle. As I hike, my steps are quicker and my stride opens up to cover more distance with each turnover until I am running down the hillside, powder up to my thighs, my snowshoes sliding with each footfall. I have to move quickly now that gravity is aiding my descent and I am laughing, out loud, with the joy of the physical freedom and the relief of stresses having been processed throughout my climb.
I know now that loving them is enough and that even if a few of my branches fall I can still stand strong against the elements and protect the smaller trees on the downhill slope.
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