Nature: A Mother's Love

 

 

                We were on our way home from elementary school, just the four of us: my mom, my twin sisters, and I, when it began to rain. I watched as the raindrops danced down the passenger window, merging with the next raindrop and sliding down the glass. Eventually, it disappeared into the crevice of the car door, I could feel a heaviness in my chest and a knot in my throat. My eyes began to water as the rain pelted the roof of the car. I remember thinking that the planet was sad, and this was its way of expressing itself. Naturally, the pitter-patter of the rain allowed me to tap into my deeper emotions and permitted me to feel. Whether the sun highlighted the hibiscus flowers growing beside my house or the clouds cast grey skies, as far as the eye could see, my emotions seemed to follow the lead of the weather. A deep connection to nature was essential to me, like the air I breathed. I didn’t know then how crucial my connection to nature would be, but I would eventually find out.

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            Growing up in Florida, before it was citified, it was a safe place for me to test my limits, explore the natural world, and learn about my physical capabilities. I can remember being eight or nine years old and rushing outside to play in the puddles after a storm passed through our North Miami neighborhood. It was flooded and the electricity had gone out in our area. Time seemed to slow down, people were home with their families and the smell of barbeque was in the air. It didn’t matter that cars couldn’t drive through the street because this was my playground and a welcome time for reconnection. I can still hear my mother's voice call out, over the sound of the generators in the distance, “Don't forget your shoes!” as I raced out the door with my sisters to surf in the puddles. We would find planks of wood and pretend to be surfer chicks until the sun went down. Every splinter was worth the playtime we had on days like this. My mom would have happily made me lunch if I returned but I chose to be outside with my sisters, living off the land. I can still taste the tartness of the kumquats that made my jaw tingle and my fingers sticky when I picked them off the tree to eat. The deep maroon color and honeycomb texture of the mulberries is a vision that burns in my memory. The excitement I felt when spotting them in the bushes and eating them freely was one of the highlights of my day. Tall stalks of wild sugar cane grew in our neighborhood and to reach the sweetness inside I’d have to forcefully break them off the stalk. This was a challenge, but not one I didn’t welcome. I would then strip the outer layers of tough bark to expose their sugariness eventually. The stalk would double as a tool to help me clear away any brush as I explored the woods. Nothing seemed more important than scaling the tree limbs, catching lizards, and rolling around in the grass. It was a time of simplicity and innocence. The sun's warmth on my skin, the breeze rattling the palm trees, and the taste of salt in the air made me feel liberated in a way I am still chasing today. It was around this age that I realized nature provides us with everything we need to survive and thrive.

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            Through my teen years and early twenties, there was no more rushing outside to swing in trees and build forts. There were life lessons to be learned, friends to make, and jobs to keep. My connection to nature dwindled and I started to lose who I was. This stage of my life was my first experience with the loss of a parent when my father passed away. I was twenty-one years old. And although he was never around much, I always considered myself to be Daddy’s little girl. This affected me deeply, but I didn’t have the tools to cope with my loss and my connection to nature seemed to be a memory. It was a dark place and I couldn’t find my way back to the lightness of my childhood. Feeling lost and alone, a dark cloud hovered over me for years. In retrospect, I realize how disconnected I was from not only nature but myself and how those two are inherently intertwined. I now understand the challenge of taking in nature’s beauty when I had so much darkness around me, is what made it seem futile. I had forgotten how to enjoy the way the sun shone through, illuminating the brilliance of the leaves' colors. Vibrant greens, yellows, and golds were no longer piercing my vision. I had forgotten that the shadows cast by trees were beautiful, not eerie, and how sitting in their shade could transform me. I lost my desire to watch raindrops dance down the windowpane and feel deeply into the weather.

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             It wasn’t until I received a call from my sister that my mother had passed away unexpectedly, that I was instantly thrown back into myself. When I got the news, I was standing barefoot near a lake, in the grass, under a large oak tree. The tree roots reached out toward me as if to embrace me in my sorrow. Time seemed to stand still, but somehow, I was able to notice the leaves dancing in the wind. They held on to their branches as the breeze blew through, a message I would understand in the days to come. The shock I was feeling seemed to be absorbed by the grass and trees around me. I stayed outside the rest of the day to try and make sense of the devastating news. Repeating out loud, “my mother just died” to try to come to terms with the reality of the words I’ve heard. My mother’s name was Sherrie, even her name whispered undertones of the natural world. Like the small dark red fruit of a cherry, her name was sweet and innocent. In Native American culture it means “one who brings joy” or “happiness” and on her best days, that’s exactly who she was. She instilled my love and respect for nature and now she was gone.

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                  Losing my mother catapulted me back to my childhood. Instantly I remembered the safety and nurture I used to experience immersing myself in nature. With this awareness and my innate connection to nature somewhat restored, maybe this time I could heal. In the days to come, I would rush back outside on my lunch break to the nearest park to throw my shoes off, soak up the sunshine and greenery, and commune with nature. When it rained, I cried too, it allowed me to grieve in peace. Raindrops would fall onto the surface of the water and merge with the lake, reminding me of the depth of my tears. They would drench my clothing as I sat there unable to move. The steady song of crickets chirping would bring me back to the present moment and it was an instinctual sound that made my heart and nervous system start to settle. The smell of wet soil and the potential of new life around me satisfied my senses enough to ease my grief. I was safe here.

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                    With my trusty journal in hand, I would pour my heart out onto its pages. Writing letters to my mom, as if she were still here, to help process my monumental loss. Writing about the past, present, and future, my hand would tire, the smallest activity took so much effort. Resting my exhausted body in the grass beside a lake, I’d imagine her presence there with me. Tears seemed to stream endlessly down my face and my body wanted to melt into the earth. I relinquished all control of my emotions in the comfort of nature. My heart was shattered, and nature was the only thing that could put the pieces back together. Like being in a time machine, memories would flash through my mind, suddenly I was a child again.

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                   The memory of us going for a run in a local park near our house replayed often. As my mom was running near the water’s edge of a small marsh, I was running above her on a higher ledge; trying to keep pace, we were laughing like we always did when we spent time together. Distracted by whatever funny story I was telling her, she nearly stepped on an alligator’s head while it sunbathed in a small sliver of sunshine peeking through the trees. It darted off into the marsh, splashing and thrashing to get away, scaring us both, but we handled it like we always did, with laughter. The sound of her laughter rang in my head for what seemed like weeks.  Whether it was her way of telling me she was okay or my way of remembering the sound of it, her laughter had a pureness and clarity to it that I always want to be able to hear. Grief had me caught between the world of my childhood and adulthood, and when I finally came to, near the water's edge, the reflection of the trees on the surface of the lake somehow made it all seem tolerable. As the rain cleared and the sun came out, the waves oscillated across the lake, glistening with every ripple. Time was irrelevant here, the only thing that mattered was the soothing presence of the natural elements around me.

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                  It was only by the rush of the breeze rattling the palm trees that I was able to begin the process of letting go. The wind dried my tears and carried my sorrow away, day after day. It breathed life into my heart and created space for new experiences. And if I was lucky enough to make it outside at night when the fireflies were in season, I realized that even if my light went out temporarily, it would always resurface somewhere higher, the same way the fireflies did.

                     I still don’t have all the answers to why things happen the way they do but I trust nature’s gentle presence to hold me through any obstacles life throws at me. When I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, or the raindrops drench my clothing, I trust that I’m always supported, loved, and nurtured. 

And that is precisely, a mother’s love.