Hello Readers- well, after saying “goodbye for awhile” last week, I’m back already, at least for today. I guess my wife is right when she says I can’t stay quiet too long…
I was wiped out for three full days this week, plus the initial “night of horror” when the stomach bug hit its hardest. The dates were March 7, 8, 9 and 10.
The physical effect was brutal but really only lasted about 24 hours. The mental quagmire and depression that followed was difficult, and harder to shake until I realized that I hadn’t remembered.
A few years ago something similar happened. Not stomach virus that time, just a deep, draining and disturbing mental malaise that lasted for a few days, unready to break until I remembered. I had forgotten that time too. Those dates were March 8, 9 and 10.
Several years before that, when I had forgotten for the first time, I experienced something similar. Those dates were in the exact range of March 7-10.
One morning in 2012, as I was heading out to work, I was alarmed to see several large tree-cutting trucks poised to bring destruction to the lot of massive pine trees on the property behind mine. The plot was the original town cemetery, and it housed roughly two dozen fully grown pine trees that had seen at least a century and a half of life. I loved those trees and the peace, beauty and spirituality they brought literally to my backyard. Cutting them down on flimsy reasoning was unthinkable, but it was happening.
I got nauseous.
Hoping it was a mistake, I came home at lunch to see that half of the majestic pines had already been taken down, with the others waiting to be next.
I got ill.
By the end of the next day, the once thickly-forested plot of land had been practically clear-cut, with only a few trees remaining.
I remained physically and mentally sick for several days.
The dates of the miniature forests decimation were March 7, 8 and 9.
I vowed to remember.
And mostly I have.
Every time I gaze over my back fence at what used to be.
Every time I drive down the alley alongside our properties.
Every time I walk into the place where the trees used to be; a green, sunny meadow where I stretch after a run.
But those dates are not March 7, 8 or 9. Those remembrances are good, but not good enough.
The trees, their spirits, and the totality of what and who they represent, call to be remembered on the days they impacted me the most. March 7, 8 and 9.
Maybe my brain and body know this, and cut me down on those anniversaries when I forget, until I stop forgetting.
Maybe it’s the spirits themselves calling on me to remember their power, how important it is to me to be close to it, and where I can still find it in their absence from that sacred plot of land.
When I forget the anniversary of the trees, I get ill in some way. Every time. When I realize what I’ve missed and acknowledge the oversight, I feel better quickly.
I live about an hour from Gettysburg, PA- the site of a historic, gruesome and horrible Civil War battle. Not unrelated, the town is also a widely known hotspot for paranormal activity.
I didn’t travel to Gettysburg very often, but when I did, I was nearly always nauseous. Never having paid enough attention to my history classes, I didn’t understand the level of pain and suffering that had exploded through town over a century ago, and lingers on paranormally today.
When I learned more details about that battle, and acknowledged, at least to myself, the immense pain and suffering that took place there, my Gettysburg health issues relieved quickly.
Spirits, or whatever we call these things, have ways of getting our attention and reasons for wanting to have it. May we be open to their calls.
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