Not Done Yet
I’d thought I was mostly done with it. Done with the deep, shuddering sobs; the shaking and sense that my insides were being slowly crushed by an iron vicegrip. I guess that’s not entirely inaccurate. I am that, mostly, done. The aforementioned state is not persistent, it is not even every day, the jags are shorter and farther between. Okay so in the last week or so they seem to be daily again, and utterly out of left field. At least in the beginning there was a wind up, there was a runway, there was some sort of precursor or warning sign … mostly because the state was, as noted, persistent.
The emotions would well and overflow at the mention of Truman’s name, in discussion of a place we’d been, something we’d done. Lately though, it comes when I’m not paying attention. Cleaning my desk, a photo gets unearthed. Moving some furniture, a clump of his hair drifts out. Or as with what just happened, I open an email and a friend makes note that they’d been so sorry to hear of Truman’s passing … and they had planted a tree in Israel in his name.
Planting a tree in Israel. There is now a tree growing in a land that I call home without ever having lived there, a tree that is there because of my Truman. How many times I went to Israel and planted a tree — in the name of my grandparents, lost relatives, the birth of a child, a friend who was ill. In each case this living organism to represent a spirit, a soul and to grow and flourish on in their name.
Several years ago a devastating forest fire consumed enormous swaths of land in Israel. Enormous by any standards, but especially considering that the entirety of this nation is the size of New Jersey. Much of the trees destroyed in this fire were ones planted by people like me — American and foreign Jews who came to Israel and though we only passed through wanted to participate in leaving a mark that had value.
Since then, as is the persistence of the Jewish people, those forests have been getting rebuilt. Certainly that takes time, as only Mother Nature can make those trees grow, but as I have seen in my own experience of the last five years with Hydrant Club, when you plant a tree and tend it lovingly the way it can flourish — even in the most harsh of conditions — is truly a testament to the natural order of things.
So now there is a living thing, bestowed to a far-off land in the name of my magical, magnificent boy.
And so the tears flow again.
Hockey hockey hockey hockey hockey
Today’s Gracious Gratitude. I am grateful for:
- My friend Gregg Delman for his remarkable kindness and thoughtful way to remember my magnificent Truman
- Knowing there is a tree growing in one of my favorite places in the world in Truman’s honor
- That the silver BMW that blew through a solid red light today and across my intersection did not t-bone my car (mostly because at least I was paying attention and was able to stop just in time — Thank you angels)
- Playing in my home studio
- Hammering out work and clearing out space
- Getting back to the gym after WAY too long
- The delicious pain of a good workout
- Perfectly chilled sparkling water
- My dogs
- Storyteller Journalists like Krista Tippett who continue to forge a path for civil discourse