Paula’s Butterfly Mind

The Yellow Tree November 13, 2011

This week marks the 10-year anniversay of a very sad day for me. 
Things are good now, and I’m happily married to a terrific guy.  But the span from about November 7th through the 16th is still a little tough each year, as the memories knock at my brain. 

A few years ago, I wrote about it in a piece I called “The Yellow Tree Never Forgets.” It’s a “short story,” although longer than I’d usually post here. So I’ll post here only the first few of paragraphs and then give you the link to the full story.  Or, just follow the link in the title below and get to the whole story. 

The Yellow Tree Never Forgets
By Paula L. High, © 2005  

November 2005
It’s a crisp November mid-morning.  As I look out the window of my office, I see the tree out in front with its leaves turning that bright, flaming-yellow color that it does every year.  Each time a breeze comes through, it causes masses of the golden leaves to rain down upon the street and the passing vehicles.  It’s beautiful.  It remembers to do this each year, without prompting from any of us.  When the sun is at this angle, this time of day, the cheery, brilliant color reflects the outdoor light and casts a vivid yellow hue onto everything in my office.  On a sunny day like today, it changes the way things in my office are lit this time of year.  It’s like no other time of year – it makes for a unique couple of weeks. As pretty as it is, it reminds me of a week that changed my life a few years ago. 

That was November of 2001.  I will never ever forget the main events that transpired that week of my life . . . of his death.  It was surreal.  It’s not every day that such an important person in your life, a love of your life, goes into the hospital for one last time and dies at the tender age of thirty-three.  But now four years later, while I remember the various major points, I find that I am forgetting subtle details about the events of that week.  At first, that mortified me.  Did forgetting little bits make it less important?  Good-Heavens, no!  It saddened me a great deal!  Then . . . I realized that’s probably how he would want it.  He would rather I lose the sad memories and remember more of the happy ones.  I just wish we’d had more time to make happy memories.  Having only nine and a half months just wasn’t enough time! 

That span of time from November 7th through the 16th was a little more than a week.  It went by at lightning speed.  And yet, somehow, it also went in very slow motion . . .  a bit like an accident happens.  At the time, I had no way of knowing what was about to happen or how it would impact my life.  When that week had passed, I had difficulty sleeping so I stayed up late many nights and I wrote voraciously about the events . . .  so I wouldn’t loose any of the details.  That seemed important at the time.  There seemed to be something there on a higher level that I did not yet understand, I only knew that it was there.  Although it seemed then that I’d have it all etched indelibly in my mind forever, I knew the effects time has on the later recall of events. 

I tried to capture every small detail I could about that week – the heartbreaking sound of his shortness of breath; the hospital admission; the hope for a turn-around; the visit with him in the hospital roombefore he went into ICU.  I didn’t know it at that moment, but that was to be the last time I saw Gil that he could speak to me, before they put him on a respirator.  I now realize that the sad look in his eyes that evening as I left, was telling me good-bye.  He knew he wouldn’t be going home, but he never mentioned it to me or to his mom.  I wish I had stayed longer that evening. 

The next morning, November 9th, 2001, I was working at my desk.  It was the first autumn I’d worked in the office with the bright, flame-yellow glow being reflected from that tree in front of the office.   It was a spectacular sight against the background of the crystal turquoise-blue New Mexico sky.  I had just been thinking how I hoped that Gil could see what beautiful morning it was from his hospital window; It was his birthday afterall.  The phone rang and it was Gil’s mom calling to tell me that he was not doing well and had been transferred to ICU – and could I come.   I finished what I could at the office in the next few minutes and asked my boss – also my mom – if I could go.   Of course she said, “Go!”   I didn’t know when, or what day, I’d be back.   I told her I’d keep her informed.   I got myself to the hospital as soon as I could.  Little did I know, but I was not prepared for what came next.   I’m not sure that anything can prepare you for such things.  
          
     For the full story, please visit this link:  “The Yellow Tree Never Forgets.”

Thank you for visiting! 
Be well,
~Paula