It is never too late: The story of a tree

Today I want to tell you the story of a tree. It starts (like so many other stories do) with a death. In this case the death of a relationship. I was living with my partner at the time, so I had to swiftly find a new place to live. After touring exactly one apartment I knew I had found my place to heal and rebuild my life. I walked in the front door and looked out the living room window and all I could see were trees. It was the middle of winter and all the trees were brown and bare, but I could imagine what it would be like at the height of summer. So much green and privacy! Then I looked out at the giant patio facing the same forest and the decision was made. I signed the lease and moved in shortly there after.

That spring, as the forest was just starting to wake up, the large tree directly in front of my window bloomed in bright pink glorious blossoms, so large it took up the entire view from the window. I don’t even normally like the color pink but the vibrancy of these blooms was like a blam after the brown of the winter forest that seemed to mirror my post break up mood. It lasted about a week before the flowers fell, such a brief window of time, but by then the forest was truly waking up and turning many brilliant and beautiful shades of glorious green. Lifting my spirits and helping me root down in my new single life and truly taking care of myself in ways I never had before.

Then one day, covid hit. I was privileged enough to have a job I could perform at home so I set up my desk directly in front of the window in anticipation of watching (what I had now learned was) the cherry tree bloom in slow motion. No longer did I have to wait to get home to see how much it had changed, instead I got to watch it happen in real time. It was a shining bright spot in an otherwise dark and uncertain time. Never in my life has a tree brought me so much joy.

Until one year my apartment complex was sold and the new owners started making major renovations. One of which was tree trimming. The cherry tree had just started to bloom, but I was back in the office and longing for work from home so I could track its constant progress. I came home one day expecting that cheery pink greeting after a long hard day…and nothing was there. The tree trimmers had killed it. There were flowering pink branches littering the forest floor. The death of the cherry tree affected me deeply. The forest is still here of course, and as abundant and full of life as ever, but this spring has not been the same without it showing up first to herald the coming transformation.

I realize now that I should have taken a piece of a branch as a memory, or done a ritual, or something (anything!), but life is always busy and I pretended it didn’t bother me. But the thing is, it is never too late. That’s the message beneath this story. There are no rules when it comes to processing death and grief. It happens on its own timeline. So today I honor the memory of the cherry tree by sharing the story here. Thank you for reading.