The Sister Trees in late November 2020 as fog was lifting and skies cleared. A beautiful gift in what can be a gloomy season in the Pacific NW. photo by anne richardson
Earth Wisdom Sustains During the Pandemic
If you have followed me for a while, you have met “The Sisters,” a circle of Big Leaf maples that I visit on my morning walks. A spiritual connection that has deepened since they reached out to me five years ago. They strengthen my rootedness to Earth, helped me prepare for my sojourn in 2019, are a source of wisdom that I share with you. Our relationship is reciprocal—my offering being love, respect, singing them songs, sharing poems and listening.
Loving The Sister Trees
Each has a distinct presence. Last year one revealed herself to be “Mother.” Her trunk, a wound etched by time in the shape of a body: a head, throat, heart, and womb. Her head has eyes that seem to carry the sorrowful look of the Pietà and it was that message that came through when she looked at me as if to say, “I carry so much pain in my heart and belly. Please see me.” I would bow and offer her special gratitude. Acknowledge all she held. Last fall a heart-shaped mushroom grew in her “heart-zone.”
Mother’s “heart.” December 2020. photo by anne richardson
Pandemic Anniversary
I see The Sisters as kin. They have sustained me in this time of The Pandemic as my neighborhood walks increased when lap swimming became unavailable. And now, an anniversary I couldn’t have imagined a year ago has arrived: the “forever alteration” to our lives from Covid. Facebook and other media are overflowing with reminders, remembrances, rituals. Statistics float across the page. Numbers of lives lost equated to war casualties to offer perspective. I find it overwhelming. Do you?
Yup, that was my first “mask” attempt! And yes, it is a bit embarrassing to share this…
“Pandemic Normal”
I scroll through my photos and the “before and after” is stark. Photo of my first mask (a sad attempt at wrapping a scarf around my face.) A last outing to a museum where faces were bare. No group pics of family gatherings since Christmas 2019 (we are a cautious clan.) Selfies donning masks.
At first it felt surreal, but now it is normal. I call it “pandemic normal,” for the rhythm of my life has fallen into this new routine where it is no longer strange to put on my mask before heading out the door and see only eyes and not mouths, cheeks and noses of other folks. To wash my hands with extra vigor. To say “no” to in-person gatherings where the “bubble is loose.” To do gatherings and meetings over Zoom.
Unofficial Loss Scale?
As I reflect back on this past year I consider all the other losses that may have gone unnoticed in the overwhelm of the pandemic. This has been my professional experience, but I notice that we tend to “rank” losses in order of some unspoken “importance” scale. (Actually, for companies that offer bereavement leave, it is explicit what “qualifies” as acceptable loss.) For example when someone’s beloved pet dies and they are heartbroken, if someone has not had the experience of having a pet companion, they may not understand how deep that Grief is and judge the loss as “less than” say the death of a parent. Or if a best friend dies, it could impact someone more than the death of a sibling, who was not a close confidant or perhaps even estranged. Relationships with anyone, or any being, are complicated. As is Grief.
And, of course, it is not only losses from death that have been flooding our lives this past year. Economic fragility. Health concerns. Environmental upheaval. Political strife. Long suppressed traumas bubbling to the surface. The list is long. And each individual has their own threads of loss being woven into the larger narrative. We may feel our individual threads are insignificant when woven into the larger tapestry.
“An open sandy shell on the beach empty but beautiful like a memory of a protected previous self.
The most difficult griefs, ones in which we slowly open to a larger sea, a grander sweep that washes all our elements apart.
So strange the way we are larger in grief than we imagined we deserved...
”
Every Loss Worthy of Grieving
But isn’t every loss worthy of grieving? If someone, some being, something has touched your heart, I would say yes. How you enter into that Grief. The rituals discerned appropriate-either traditional or newly intuited. Whether your Grief journey is a brief noticing, a long dark wintering, or a seasonal dance between joy and sadness and a range of other emotions entwined, well that is part of your own discernment. No one person’s Grief journey is the same, though there are similarities that help one not feel alone. Finding support of those who are willing to be present to listen and simply be with you as settle into Grief can be comforting. And (a small pitch for my work) if you need professional support, someone who is a seasoned Grief companion can be a worthwhile.
A Personal Loss
An unexpected loss has touched my life: Three of my beloved Sisters, the circle that is so dear to me, fell during the Pacific NW’s recent ice storm, including Mother. Mother fell first. To see her prone on the ground, roots exposed, ice still coating her lichen and moss body wrenched my heart. This is what I wrote to help me process:
“‘Let’s check on The Sister’s.’ My Sweetheart rounds the corner first. ‘Oh, something has happened,’ he says, as he tries to prepare me for what I do not want to witness. Mother has gone down. Pulled from her roots and gentled to the ground by two firs that held her has she fell. She is lying prone. Her ice coated body green with moss and lichen. I stroke her heart and I am reminded of when my own mother died, almost three years to the day when this mother lay before me. How I stroked her face and kissed her cooling lips. I kiss this Mother too. Thank her for her service. I ask permission and tug a tendril of root from her base for my altar. I offer my love to the other Sisters. They have lost a kin. They are grieving. I am grieving.”
The next day, two more Sisters fell as the temperatures warmed and the heavy weight of ice pulled them to the ground, snapping one violently. The circle has been rent open. Vulnerable. Exposed. Loss reminds of our vulnerabilities. Of being open-hearted. Of loving another person, being, ideal, whatever has touched you. It hurts.
Sister Tree, “Mother,” fell during the Ice Storm. photo by anne richardson
The two other Sisters fell the next day under the weight of the thawing ice. photo by anne richardson
The ice has long thawed. Chainsaws are starting the work of removal. I wonder how the remaining Sisters feel knowing their kin will not be allowed to decay naturally. I try to sense into their Grief, but I am not ready for the lesson. Each time I round the corner I witness the change. Feel the loss. Like walking into a home after a death. So I gently touch each one and together we grieve and tears often rise in me. And I have learned this about trees. They store their memory in their roots. So the three Sisters live on in a new way. This comforts me.
Discerning Grief Rituals
Oh, and my ritual. With The Sister’s permission, I remove a small piece of Mother from her body. Size of my palm. I took her on my planned trip to the coast shortly after she fell. Often when I walk the coastline, there are logs, smooth from being washed over by the tide. Some, I assume have drifted down rivers from their mountain homes. Others have crossed seas to wash up on these shores. Stumps, long trunk bodies, roots. I know the three downed Sisters will not be allowed a “natural” burial—to decay as they would in a forest. It is not the nature of urban neighborhoods. Bringing a piece of one of them here feels honoring.
The new skyline with the remaining trees. It still startles me, the missing of the three Sisters. photo by anne richardson
Releasing a piece of “Mother” into the soothing waves of Mother Ocean. photo by anne richardson
“The February day is cloudy and calm with a smattering of beach combers, families and dog walkers. I stroll one, two, three miles until it is quiet except for Mother Ocean’s incoming tide caressing the beach. I offer prayers and set one mother on the sand to be received by another. The same mother that received my wailing three years earlier as I grieved my mother’s death. Mother Ocean embraces Mother Tree with kindness.
”
My Mentor Grief Reminds Me: Expand Your Openness to Loss
I share this story of my loss to, I hope, reassure you that every loss is worthy of grieving. That you can trust yourself to sort through grieving in a way that is meaningful for you. My mentor Grief (of course I would mention my mentor!) reminds me over and over that when we allow ourselves to expand our openness to grieving the small losses, we build up our willingness to grieve even a tsunami of loss. A tsunami of loss, like a pandemic. And when we allow others to grieve with us, it is a gift. Yes, our alone time with our Grief is sacred, but there is more…
Because Grief, as my wise friend Annie Gudger says, it meant to be done in community. The lament, an ancient form of sharing deep sorrow, suffering and Grief, was done in community. So I ask you to hold my tender heart as I grieve the loss of my three Sister Trees. I miss them each time I go on my morning walks and see the gaping hole in the skyline of my neighborhood. I scroll through my photos and see their crown through the seasons, branches extended toward sky and each other. The ground of their inner circle, full of leaf litter in fall, fern frills in spring and winter, seed pods and blossom in spring and summer, their bark covered in lichen and moss year round. (See the slideshow below for an honoring tribute.)
The more deeply we can grieve together, the more deeply we can rejoice together. And perhaps our Grief threads; our Joy threads can weave something of beauty out of the debris of the tsunami.
as always, in deep gratitude,
anne
For Your Reflection
What Grief is nestled inside you today? Small. Big. Tsunami sized. What would journeying with it look like? Who do you feel comfortable allowing to come alongside you on your journey?
How were you raised to deal with losses? Were they marginalized? Minimized? Accepted? Talked about? What are your family rituals around Grief? Do they still hold meaning for you or would you like to make some changes?
There are times in life when a loss is “put aside” to keep moving forward for practical reasons (can you think of some?) but may never get revisited due to family, personal, cultural or other reasons. It is still part of your story though. What losses have you “put aside” that are wanting to be noticed and grieved?
As we reach the one year anniversary of the pandemic, how are you being/doing? Is there a loss that has gone unnoticed that is either directly or indirectly pandemic related you would like to name. Sometimes just naming a loss offers a release and may be enough “grieving,” at least in this moment.
Though the Spring Equinox is less than a month away in the Northern Hemisphere, I am finding myself still in a “wintering” mood. How about you? Are you feeling the stirrings of spring tugging at your body or are you still wanting to rest more in the dark? Or perhaps some days feeling more like a spring lamb and other days wanting to sit by a warm fire—on a continuum. Life is rarely about absolutes! If you live in the Southern Hemisphere, how does it feel to be letting go of the light and moving toward autumn and longer nights?
Upcoming Grief Workshop
Journeying with Grief: An Invitation to Explore Loss Through The Labyrinth & Writing [online]
Register Today. Space Limited.
We all experience grief and loss in life, from the time we leave the nurture of the womb to the leaving of our body at the end of our life, with many other losses, small and large, along the way. The ongoing pandemic and all its associated losses has surfaced our modern society’s hesitancy to engage in healthy grieving in favor of quick fixes. In the past year numerous articles have appeared addressing this noticing, some reflecting a lifetime of unresolved grief lingering in silence just below the surface. Grief that is asking for a chance to be heard. The labyrinth, an ancient archetype representing the metaphor of journey, provides one honoring way to reflect on loss.
In this workshop, you’ll be introduced to the archetype of the labyrinth as one tool to journey with your own losses in combination with written expression. Using both the metaphor of the labyrinth journey and “walking” with finger labyrinths (downloadable labyrinths provided,) participants will be given opportunities to give voice to losses in their life through poetry and open writing reflections. This workshop is in partnership with Portland Women Writers (http://pdxwomenwriters.com/) and is for women and those who identify female. No writing experience is necessary to participate! Workshop is limited to 12 participants.
Please click on the link for more detail.
New Service: Reiki
I am please to announce I am now offering Reiki. If you are curious about Reiki or would like to schedule a session, please click on this link to find out more.
The Sisters Through The Seasons: A Tribute
Please click through to see the slideshow.
