Stuck in Whether or Not

I love the tree…

Huge and leafy, its canopy spreads out to cover three houses, and it hovers over several power lines. It is big, beautiful and majestic…it was a selling point of the house, and now it has the potential to sink my fragile ship of finance.

Although safely ensconced in my home office, I am still in its shade. I love the old tree, and have often when it first sprouted. Was my yard part of a fam field, a meadow, or just part of a clump of trees growing on the edge of town? Maybe there was already a street, and it simply grew up in the back yard, always in the shadow of my house…until it grew bigger than the house.

For decades, it has withstood storms of wind, rain, ice and snow, including several hurricanes that made its way inland. It has stood strong as the world has changed around it, continuing to give shade to my house and those around it. It has been home to numerous bird and squirrel nests and has become a landmark (at least for me) and a source of peace and leaves for the entire block.

Since I owned the house, the tree has been trimmed several times, but in recent years, I have not been able to afford a professional, so I have done the minimum by myself, and the tree has appeared to manage just fine despite my armature arboreal skills. Unfortunately, I recently returned from my first real vacation in years, to find that the tree has began to split down the middle!

It has been a very wet and stormy Spring and Summer, and this has taken a toll on the entire area. There have been down-pours, floods, high winds and a tornado even touched down nearby.

Now, it seems as if time has begun to run out for the tree.

The split is growing bigger every day, and if nothing is done, a quarter of this big tree will wind up in the side of my house, as well as that of my neighbor. Another quarter will wind up taking down powerlines and blocking the alley…but at least my insurance will cover it…I hope.

Now, it is a case of whether or not we can save the whole tree…and how it will be paid for, but these are issues for tomorrow (literally).

If it stays, the tree will be smaller, as will my bank account…but both will grow stronger again.

Where there is life, there is always hope.

If it goes, I will plant a new tree in its place, using one of the nascent saplings that the it has spawned. For nothing that powerful, that magnificent can ever truly be gone, as it will leave a legacy of new life and new growth that will can never be lost or forgotten.

It’s that whole circle of life thing coming to fruition.

It is just tough to be in the in-between place, uncertain of how things will turn out, what the results will be.

So, I consult with the experts, getting their opinions and seeking to make the best choice for the tree, and for myself.

But right now, I am stuck in the “whether or not”, waiting to see how this will all work out, and having faith that no matter what the result, and how that will impact my bank account (and house), that all will be okay…not necessarily easy, and not without pain…but okay.

Where there is life…there is hope…even if that hope can be hard to hold on to at times.

And it is this hope that feeds our faith.

Independence Day

The squirrels were playing, just outside of the window. They scampered across the yard, up the tree and then back again…they were a great distraction.

It was a ground-floor room, and while he had it all to himself, he wasn’t alone…most of us were there with him, and had been throughout the vigil. The only one missing that day was one of my brothers, the plan was that he would visit the next day, the Fourth of July.

My father was fading fast, he was having trouble breathing, was on oxygen and could no longer respond. I knew that he would not like being this way, and hoped that he did not know. He was a good man, well educated, hard-working, fun, and taught Math and Computer Science at the college level.

He was also a man of faith, and dedicated to his family.

Lying in that bed, he was not the man he once was, and part of me was looking forward to his struggled being over, to his independence for Parkinson’s.

After a few hours, I said my good byes and we drove back to Staten Island to wait for the phone call we knew would be coming soon…in many ways, the waiting would be harder than the loss.

The next morning was foggy and humid, but not terribly hot.

I made myself go to one of my 12-step meetings, and the speaker was talking about the day his father died, ten years earlier, to the day: July 4^th. Coincidentally, I also heard this guy speak at my very first meeting, when his stories of being in prison for a crime committed while in a black-out, freaked me out, and I did not go to another meeting for a few weeks.

By contrast, the message he shared that morning helped me to face what was to come.

I remember getting home just before noon, thinking there would be news (there were no cell phones then), but there was nothing…I resigned myself to waiting, and tried to get on with my day. Although it was a holiday, I did not feel like celebrating and had no plans to do so. My wife (at the time) tried to be supportive, but I was on edge.

The call came early in the afternoon.

My father died just after my brother arrived, the last of our family to visit, he was able to say his good byes, and surrounded by his family (including those who could not be there) my father breathed his last and was at peace. His long battle was now finished.

Of course, I wanted to get right in the car and drive back down to South Jersey, but my mother asked me to wait, she had enough on her hands, and explained that it would be easier if I stayed home for a day or two while arrangements.

It really wasn’t that long, but as always, waiting is difficult.

After the news, we walked down the hill, near Wagner College, where I could look out over the Verrazano Bridge, and tried to see the tall ships come in for the celebration, but it was too cloudy and I could not see much. Back home, I was too wound to sit still, so we went to another meeting that afternoon, where I shared my loss and got lots of support.

After the meeting, my wife and I decided to go see one of the Lethal Weapon movies, and wound up surrounded by more of our friends from the meetings…there was no way to escape them, which was just fine with me! Then, we ended the day at a third meeting (right after the movie) and finally made it home to eat, pack up and wait some more.

That evening I also began writing a tribute to my dad, which I would read at his funeral, but this seemed far off on that long Saturday evening.

The time past, and soon we were on our way south. My mom wanted to make arrangements for us we decided to rent a motel room (choosing the same place one of my brothers was staying in), so we could have a place to take a break from the intensity. It was not the nicest place, but it worked for us, and I was glad we had our own space.

The next day, my father’s remaining brothers arrived, along with other extended family and friends, turning out mourning into kind of a reunion, as often happens. There was food and stories, and a few tears, along with preparations for the services and burial.

The funeral was nice, and very moving, with many tributes to a good man whose life was unfairly cut short by this devastating disease.

He was 76, but most of his family lived well, into their 90’s.

My father (and later my mother) was buried in Linden New Jersey. When they bought the plots, the cemetery had been close to home and surrounded by a meadows and trees, but was near highways and within sight of some refineries. Still, he had a nice spot, near some trees…and I was okay with it, as I believe that who my father was had already passed on the next world, as a spirit as strong as his could never be stilled.

We were back home that evening, but had little rest, as the next few days were spent showing the uncles around New York and other family obligations…and that was kind of fun, as we got a chance to sightsee places I would not have gone to otherwise, like Ellis Island.

It was not until the end of the week, when everyone had gone home, and my wife went back to work. I was home alone, when it all began to sink in. I remember that it was early afternoon, when I found myself contemplating a patch of sunlight on the living room floor, and felt like I could just capture that moment and hold it forever. 

That was when I realized that life would not ever be “the same”. In a few days I would go back to work, and take up the fabric of my life, but following a new thread…one which would lead to some dramatic changes.

In the years to come, more threads would be pulled, and I would come back to that moment, when all was still and quiet…and I gave myself time to grieve.

And with all the places I have been, and things I have seen since then, I still find myself returning to that little patch of sunlight from time to time, when seeking peace.

I take it as a gift, one of many, from my father.