Trying A Different Lens
I am feeling a lot calmer after some tears and angry writing and a few hours at work. Still struggling with the frustation and anger and a good dose of helplessness, but I’m trying to just breathe and stay calm and see the positives here.
A good part of my panic and frustration was because I immediately recognized that, while it would be physically possible to replace the tree, I just can’t do it emotionally. Entertaining the thought makes me feel incredibly guilty and panicky. For better or worse I have invested my feelings towards my son in this tree; from the moment we brought it home it was Devin’s tree. Replacing it would feel like such a betrayal… it would just be wrong in my heart. Even saying “it’s the wrong tree” sounds terrible.
I guess that’s why I was so upset. I realized early on, when we were selecting a tree, that it would be important and not something we could change (though I don’t think I knew it would be this bad). So this morning when I stood there staring at that one white bloom all my panic overwhelmed me as I realized it was too late. Too late to change my mind, too late to fix things. My OCD need for everything to be perfect, a need that is especially strong when it comes to anything for Devin, was overwhelming. I had to fight the urge to rip the bloom off the tree in anger, like ripping a page out of my diary after I mis-spelled a word. It’s not right, it’s not right, it’s not right. My son died, shattering my belief that anything in this world would ever be right again, and yet here I am having a panic attack because the tree is the wrong color… still clinging to an attempt to make things right again.
I’m really really trying hard to reason my way through my OCD. The tree isn’t perfect – but neither would Devin have been. He would have had flaws, he would have acted out, he would have made choices that I didn’t agree with. I tell myself it’s okay that the tree isn’t the way I envisioned it, that the tree is for Devin, not for me – it is how it is supposed to be. And I need to find a way to find the beauty in what it is, not what it was in my head. I lean on my photography, in a way – photography, in my eyes, is not about changing the object, it’s in finding a beautiful way to look at it. Anything can be beautiful if you look at it through the right lens, the right angle, the right lighting. So I put myself behind my lens and find the beauty in this tree.
*big hugs*
I’m sorry it wasn’t the tree you envisioned. I think I would be upset too. But your last paragraph sounded so wise. We can’t predict who people will be, even though I am sure we all daydream about it, so it almost seems appropo that the tree blossomed in a way you didn’t envision. And different doesn’t mean bad, it just means different.
None of this is what you expected it to be, Nat, and the tree was one of those things you could control. I can’t fault that at all.
I just wish, as I always do, that I could make it all better.
After maddy died someone sent us two lilacs — one for Bella, one for Maddy. (Never send live plants to someone deeply bereft.) It snowed. I tried to keep them alive in my laundry room until the first ok day, and put them in the ground. I tried hard not to designate the trees, but of course I did. And Maddy’s died. Typical. Figures. So finally, after staring at this stick in the ground for weeks (and “Bella’s” looking like a bush already) I got on line one morning and ordered another. I set down the computer, walked outside to pull up the stick, and there were tiny buds on it. It’s a short, stunted, small lilac; no idea if it will bloom this year, but definitely alive and well. (The third sits in between with no designation.) I wasn’t sure what this signified, but certainly, it meant something, no?
“The tree isn’t perfect – but neither would Devin have been. He would have had flaws, he would have acted out, he would have made choices that I didn’t agree with.” this is a beautiful sentiment. I’d breathe with this.
That sounds like the perfect way to think it. :hug:
Oh Tash. I’m terrified my tree will die too. That must have been so horrible for you! It’s so hard not to give these things far more power than “just” a plant should have.
Natalie, I had the same reaction when I read your previous post: perhaps this isn’t the tree that you imagined having, but it is the tree that you are meant to have. And you’ve just articulated that thought far better than I ever could.
If I step away from being the mother of a dead baby, and just stay as a gardner, I can remember that plants often turn out in ways I totally don’t expect them to be. I have and image in my mind of how my front bed will look each year, as I design it, and it never looks that way. And it’s ok. Just takes some getting used to. What should be, will be.
The tree isn’t perfect – but neither would Devin have been.
This is beautiful. But I’m still sorry that it wasn’t perfect.
You know, this entire post was subtext to the last one. Or maybe I’m just lucky enough to understand. While you can’t change Devin’s tree, what about a family of trees to keep his company. :)
This is just like life, as you’ve already worked out, things happen as we least expect or want. It’s how you turn lemons into lemonade. You’ve been amazing, and I’m sure this tree issue is another you’ll work out – with tons of us here to help. *hugs*
The way you’ve described the tree and its meaning is so beautiful and so true. I hope it grows on you and you are able to appreciate it for what it is. (((HUGS)))
That blog URL I gave you the other day for another woman who lost her baby? If you still have that, check on over. Her friends planted her a KOBE Japanese Cherry Blossom tree. She has pictures up of what that tree looks like. She added a blurb about what that tree stands for and means. It represents the fraility of life.
One of the first things JD said he wanted to do was get a tree. We don’t have one yet. Ostensibly because we don’t know how much longer we are staying in this house, and how terrible would it be to leave the tree? But also, I think, because we can’t decide on a “perfect” tree, a “perfect” spot for it. We don’t have a permanent grave marker yet either– we can’t agree on the design.
It’s never going to be perfect, is it? Because what would be perfect would be to have our living, breathing, imperfect sons with us, right?
I hope your new lens works for you, because you are right– this is the tree you have. Just like this is the life we have, where we have to make do.
I’m glad you’re feeling better. The tree is beautiful, but I understand your disappointment at it not being what you pictured. I like your anology though that Devin might not have been exactly what you expected either.