A Day in the Life of a Big Oak Tree

    When I was seventeen I climbed a big oak tree. I looked out on the park beneath my feet and I watched the sunset. I liked sunsets in Colorado because they were always colorful. They filled the air with yellows, oranges, pinks, purples, and ended with a deep blue. I enjoyed watching the sun rays reach through the leaves of the big oak tree. First, I would drive to the park from work after a long shift. I would open up the sun roof of my Volvo and listen to loud love songs, sometimes loud songs of heartbreak. Once I parked, I’d turn down the volume and put in my earbuds. I’d walk to the edge of the grassy field, serenading myself along the way. At the edge of the grass, I’d pop my shoes and socks off. My toes would squish into the grass. I’d relish in the coolness of the field and breathe in the scent of the park. Slowly, methodically, purposefully, I’d walk to the big Oak tree and wrap my arms around the trunk as best I could. I could never have long enough arms to touch my fingers, but I’d reach my middle fingers, wondering if they’d ever unite. I’d relish in the sting of the bark on my skin because it meant I could feel life. With a deep breath in, I’d enjoy the strength of the big, Oak tree. Then, I’d slowly climb up the tree. 

I’d reach my left hand up to a limb and push my weight into the ball of my left foot. I’d push myself up bit by bit, grabbing the tree for strength. It felt like when I’d climb onto the safe, warm lap of my mother. She always helped me up and guided me to a safe space. The limbs of the tree seemed to do the same for me now. I would rest on the biggest limb and feel the rough tree bark beneath my skin and I’d watch the sunset. In those moments, I’d ponder my life. I’d wonder when love would come my way. The comfort of the tree meant I could whisper my hopes, dreams, and fear. Sometimes, my head would lift up toward the sky and my eyes would be captivated by the clouds dancing in the sky. I loved how the tree was so much taller than my sturdy branch. Her limbs reached for hopes and dreams high in the sky. I’d sing softly to myself as the air grew colder and colder. Without the sun, the tree became cold and intimidating. The leaves would rustle in the darkness. I’d shimmy down the tree and head home. 

When I was 42, I’d go for a jog every afternoon. I jogged through the neighborhood out to the park. I’ve always been a runner, ever since I discovered track and field in junior high. I started by stretching out and choosing a playlist in the safety of my porch. I let the rhythm of loud, angry rap music fuel me. Once I arrived at the park I rounded the lake twice before heading over to the Oak tree. I paused my music and listened to the sounds of birds singing, children playing, and dogs barking. I sat beneath the tree and leaned back, allowing my sweaty skin to scrape against the harsh bark. I watched the clouds and the people all around me. I envied for a moment, the dog playing fetch. I watched his large, black tail, wagging with delight. I relished in the happiness of his owner as she took the ball from his mouth. I feel delighted at the simplicity of the love between them. I picked up the leaves and smiled when they were big enough to fill my palm. I held them up to the sunlight and considered the small creatures who had made a meal out of them-leaving behind a small hole which the sun brightly shone through.

Then, my eyes wandered to the children. I watched as they explored the colorful playground with a joy and innocence long lost in myself. I felt the sadness billow up inside of my heart as their parents wrapped their arms around them on the monkey bars. I swallowed the lump in my throat as a child reached their arms up, begging to be lifted from the wood chips and into the safe embrace of a parent. I resisted the urge to identify with the dark haired children as I touched my own hair. I kicked myself for wondering what color eyes they might have or if they’d have my laugh. In spite of it all, I stood up. I dusted the water from my thighs and started up my music again. I decided anger would be better than pain once again.

When I was sixty years old, I had my birthday party in a park. The morning was warm and inviting to us, but we lived in a new, harsh world, one where our families didn’t get together the same way we used it. We learned how to video chat and wave through glass windows. The parks became busier as we all began to host events outdoors in order to socially distance. My partner and I arrived first. I spread out a big, red checkered blanket underneath the big, Oak tree. The shade made the grass cold beneath our blanket and we readjusted when we found a few large water spots. Our children arrived soon after. They spread out a blue blanket and a green one. We all opened coolers and picnic baskets as we each brought our own food and drinks. Although there was no set menu, we all picked sandwiches, chips, and soda pop. Our laughter and lively discussion filled the summer air as we all felt grateful to be together for a moment or two in person.

They all gathered behind me as my partner video taped them singing “Happy Birthday” to me. I blew out the single candle on my cupcake. I fought every urge to wrap my arms around my family. I bit my tongue to fight the tears as they began to pack up. We all gathered our own trash and walked, six feet apart, to the park’s trash cans and recycle bins. They all needed to return to their homes, to work. I found myself realizing how different this pandemic looked for them. They had to continue to work; they faced poverty and homelessness without a paycheck. I was an established adult; I could quarantine better than they could. My partner’s private practice was thriving as more therapists jumped into video conferences with patients. I prayed that my children did not face loneliness at this time. I prayed for their health and safety. I prayed for it all to be over soon. As I returned to the blanket, my partner stood and offered their hand. They played a slow, lovesong on their phone. We began to quietly dance beneath the big, Oak tree. I nestled myself in their warmth as they boasted that they had our children teach them how to find and download the song onto their phone.