The Comfort of Trees

I have always loved trees. When I was a child, I played for countless hours beneath a Mulberry tree. I climbed the branches and collected berries. Often I arrived home with my hands stained purple from playtime.

In my yard stood two giant trees, oak I believe, which served as first and third base during games of kick ball. A wide and tall Holly tree sat in the middle of the yard but we avoided it because of it's sharp edges.

In the past year I have started purposely getting close to nature. A glimpse of a lake surrounded by pine calms me. Walking in the shade of trees at the park cools me. I can hear my inner voice speak, and I listen. I ask the universe for wisdom and I find it. Walking gives me stamina too.

Last week was rough for me. I am a caregiver for individuals who have intellectual disabilities. One of the residents living in the group home where I work passed away. She came home from the hospital on Hospice. She came home in the morning, but didn't make it through the night. Just hours after I clocked out, she took her last breath.

It was a sad, emotional day for everyone who loved her. I met her six years ago, before dementia took over. She was a kind, fun loving lady. A few months ago I was assigned work in her house. She had become so fragile, and moving her anywhere brought out screams of fear. But every once in a while she would crack me up, saying "wait a minute, Grandma!" Or calling me chicken head. Sometimes she would spend hours disconnected from reality, then suddenly say, "oh, it's you," warmly. Her health took a turn about three weeks ago. I didn't see her until she arrived on a stretcher from the hospital. She was medicated for pain and unconscious.

All day long it was like a vigil at the group home. All of the staff, administrators and caregivers were shedding tears, talking about their love for this special lady. I was glad she was home, but the weight of caring for her on Hospice was daunting. Suddenly, I am administering morphine to help her pain. Watching her breathing become so labored. Learning what end of life care is in quick lessons from the Hospice nurses who came and went. Before clocking out, I went to her room and kissed her forehead. I told her I loved her. I didn't say goodbye. I couldn't. I still hoped to see her in the morning.

She was not there the next morning. Her door was closed, her body taken in the night by Hospice. I had two other ladies to care for, so I kept busy doing that. I was sad, but also relieved that she was out of pain.

I worked two 12 hour shifts after she passed. Staying busy helped with my grief. But Sunday I was off. I went for a walk as usual. I was not far from home when I stopped at a crosswalk. A gentle breeze sent the leaves on the trees into a flutter. Suddenly I felt a soft touch on my cheek. I turned around and immediately realized a tree branch had been the one to touch me. A very long, yellow leafed tree branch gently blowing in the wind to be exact. I said, "Oh hello tree," out loud. Not caring if anyone heard me.

It was a lovely, unusual thing to be pet by a tree. Something I have only heard of in whimsical fairy tales. But it happened. I sensed that the wise, old tree was letting me know all is well.

I have always loved trees, but I realize now that sometimes they love me back.