As the days grow shorter, the temperatures drop, and the trees make their transition from a kaleidoscope of color to bare, reaching branches, I’m reminded that, like the trees, my own world lost its color on this day eleven years ago.
Unlike the trees, when my leaves fell, they didn’t return in the spring. I waited. I hoped. I dreamed they would reappear.
I moved through the seasons imagining what it would feel like to wake one morning and find them covering my barren branches again.
Each day reminded me they were still gone.
For many years, I did everything I could to live for the leaves I lost. I thought that by becoming a leaf myself- by embodying their nature, moving to their rhythm, and speaking in their voice, I could bring them back.
And even if I couldn’t, maybe I could earn the love I had so desperately sought when they were still attached.
This is the year I learned that I am my own tree.
The year I realized the best way to get my leaves back is to let go.
That letting go isn’t forgetting my roots; it’s forgiving them.
In that forgiveness, I’ve given myself permission to grow in my own rhythm and to speak in my own voice.
I’ve learned to trust that my leaves will return,
so long as I water and tend to my own tree first.
This year, I am honoring my dads life by finally living for me. I am honoring his life by taking care of mine. As I move about my journey, I will thank him for bringing me into this beautiful world. I will pay attention to all of the signs that remind me his spirit lives on.
Grief is one of the hardest things I have had to navigate,
but through it I have learned what it means to lose,
and through this loss, I’ve learned what it means to truly live.
And what a gift it is
to truly live.
