Figure this out, this month has been a complete fog. Maybe it’s the cold, or post holiday blues, I just can’t put my finger on it. I’ve been thinking about my mom, she passed in January two years ago and oddly I wasn’t so melancholy about it last year on the first anniversary of her death. Maybe the dust was just settling. I think of the old house and of a life I knew and never wanted, and how do you miss something you never wanted? When I left I didn’t look back, I knew if I did I’d never leave, though I waited nearly a lifetime to do so. I don’t want or mean to go back, yet a shadow got left behind, it lingers there and I can see me there, me from years ago, I see my son as a boy, I still hear the laughter between the heartbreak anger and pain. I see our dog, and the swimming pool that went unused for so many years, snowflakes on the berry bush out around the side of the house that was never quite trimmed to perfection. And if I really let go and I’m very still I can almost smell the blossoms of the plum tree that shaded the porch in the spring, a scent so distinguished much like that of the mimsoa trees in the summer rain in front of my grandparents house I’d climb as a little girl. I see my life. But how do you miss a life you never wanted, isn’t that funny. Or is a lifetime of familiar that I miss. That is funny.
Perhaps then it’s true, storms do make trees take deeper roots.