The “Wood” (Would) Anniversary

In my backyard, trees are changing colors and leaves are beginning to fall. The lawn is freshly seeded, and the shrubs stand at attention, still perfectly holding their summer shape. Which brings attention to the one that is not; a wildly sprawling hydrangea bush, once toppled over, now dominates the landscape.
Her wooded arms extend far above me, and I have to shield my eyes from the sun to see her flowers for fingertips pointing to the sky.
Her wooded arms stretch wide, like a basketball player guarding her ground; she is defending her space, impenetrably planted.
I think about pruning her, this wild child running amuck, crowding her neighboring flora.
She doesn’t mean to obstruct their growth, but she refuses to stunt her own.
Not now, not after the pain of pruning
time and again
and certainly
not after the terrible day of unrooting
when she never knew if she could
or how she would
use her intelligence to
Rise Up Rooted, like the old poem says.

With a swoop she embraced me, as I laid down my shears
We hugged and I smiled
Laughing through tears.
I let them flow and I delight as I do.
The Hydrangea is me
And could also be you……
I’ll write out her story,
since it’s so much like mine
And I’ll share it someday,
when I find the time.

The Hydrangea
Year and again she had grown when she could,
Tending The One as she promised she would.
Her garden was happy, year after years
With all of the laughters, and very few tears
Until the day came
when that life came undone
She was abruptly uprooted;
at the hand of The One.
She screamed and she prayed
She prayed and she cried
Yanked out of the ground
Without knowing why.
“Why?” she begged, desperate
as she questioned her worth
Shaking, roots up, the wrong side of the earth.

Then, it came for her
in a moonless dark night
Creeping in like a fog
it captured her fight
Tired and broken
Branches turning to rot
If she were to live,
she’d need all that she’s got

Still lying still
in the spot she’d been cast
A glint caught her eye
then another flew passed.
From her overturned view, she glimpsed a small light
And watched, unblinking
as the leaves took flight.
They leapt from their branches and covered her in care.
“We see you” they said,
“You need not be scared.”

With twigs and half branches
and fallen trunks too.
They loved the Hydrangea
It was all they could do.
But that was enough, so they piled on mounds
Piling and pushing her
Back into the ground.
Gently with care
as the ground opened wide
Pushing and piling
tilling her roots back inside.

Back on
the right side of the earth.
She was greeted by many who spoke of her worth.
Old roots, her ancestors, reached out, clutching tight
New roots, to be born, held on with fresh might.
And she tethered
once more
this time digging deep
She would not be uprooted by another love thief.
So, she began
to dig and dig deep.

Deep she dug; along with her, Grief
deep she dug as far as she could
she burrowed because
her soul told her she should
she needed to do so
so that she could rise
out of the ashes of all of those lies.
So, down she did dig
for over 12 seasons
Down she did dig
her soul the sole reason
Down she did dig
away from the treason.

Until slowly
So slowly
Roots tethered tight
And Slowly
So slowly
She grew up toward the light.
Up from the bedrock
The rubble behind
Up from the unanswered
Whys in her mind
Up she persisted
Though at her own pace
Focused on up
And on own race
Up she did push
With all of her might
When one little up
Pushed her into the light.

Warm greetings of welcome
Yellow daisies abound
Awaiting her return
back Up from the ground
Awaiting her word
on what she had found.
She began with a sigh,
(she didn’t know that she knew)
till her soul gave a tug
and out the words flew!
“I am The One
The Great Love of My Life
No longer in longing for life as a wife.
In richer and poorer, I honored my part,
In sickness and health, with all of my heart.
I hereby do pledge for the rest of my days
To honor and cherish myself in all ways.
A vow to myself that I know I will keep
A promise made daily as I rose from the deep.
I am planted in purpose and with Grief by my side
White wings of Once Love
Have now scattered and died
Please stand as my witness”, she implored to the trees,
And entangled with Grief
She fell to her knees.
Where she sang and she wept
And she wailed and she why’d
Then tenderly buried
her love deep inside.
The trees as her witness had lowered their heads
And murmured a Grace in support of their friend
They encircled a birch tree, three trunks filled with fear
And piled them with loving from both far and near
They had lost too, that trunk made of three,
But they knew they were loved
And strong they would be.
From the best of them both, a love sown for the ages
One day she would tell them
with words spilled on pages.

The Hydrangea had lost, had mourned, and had cried
Now a bride to herself a new love to abide
“Farewell and my thanks” she called out at the end
Both to The One and to Grief, her new friend.

And that was when Grief
Bent in a humble, deep bow
And lauded “Well done! You did it
– and How!”
“You’ve loved and you’ve lost but that’s not the end goal
Love’s cost is Grief’s payment,
and is what makes you whole.
Equal and opposite, as the sun and the moon,
so, love is to grief,
both never and soon.”
The Hydrangea rose
And the three-trunk birch, too
and nodded their knowing
they all felt it true.

Time passed, she was growing
A new self still with Grief
And had blossomed new branches
even sprouted new leaves.
She rose deeply rooted
Feeling it deep in her wood
She had snapped she had shattered
But had grown back for good.
She didn’t know how it might happen
But she hoped that it would
So, she honored Grief
every time that she could.
Sometimes with a nod, or a small, silent prayer
Sometimes with a yelp as she felt her heart tear.
She took in her Grief, never turning away
And Grief smiled easy, feeling welcome to stay.

The Hydrangea had learned
that Grief was a friend
and carrying it with her
was how she would mend
Just like The One who she couldn’t love more
Her Grief was now part of life story’s lore.
In honor of both, her love and her Grief, she begins this hard day
By thanking each leaf.

It’s the date of her Uprooting, and so she reflects
It was necessary for her path, or she suspects.
Outside in the dawn, she looks to the sky
She pauses, inhales and closes her eyes.
She remembers The One and the marriage mirage.
Then thanks every tree for their gift of triage.
She bows to time moving and the 60 moons past
And to the brightest of stars whose light helped her last.
She kisses her arrow and pulls back the string
With a diamond-y sparkly attached little ring
It flies high and far
Her bow ever stable
Still grief guards her close
Tears well, she is able.
The three-trunk birch
stands mighty above
Still nurtured by her,
her life’s greatest love
She is crying in sorrow
and crying with pride
For that trio grew
Loved deeply inside.
She is resilient they tell her,
But she thinks that untrue,
after all, she has done
only what ‘old wood’ would do.
Growing new buds from dead wood is her way
And by doing, she showed them
how to live in each day.

Five years have now passed, and she is danced by the wind
Twirling to treetops, she applauds with her friend
Grief, who once scared her
stands now an old guide
Claps and rejoices
and beams with great pride.
She waves and she sways,
and her white flowers dance,
All for the day she dug deep with brave chance.

“Whoo Whoo”, sings the Owl, her handsome new friend
And her wood army whistles; they knew she would mend
Today she is new, not who she had been
And Grief still abides her; an old loyal friend
New buds are still blooming right from her old wood.
Her leaves inhale life, her roots knew that she could.
In digging down deep for all of those years
She had planted herself, then drank her own tears.
She is more than ok
She is madly alive
In love and with laughter
And abundance she thrives.
Here she stands solid
The earth’s intelligence true,
She feels a quiet whisper
she knows what to do
She will now tell her story,
But before she begins,
She takes a deep breath
Then bows a deep bend;
Giving thanks to the trees
And Grief, her dear friend.