I Put My Toes into the Cool Grass

A note about sitting by my dead son's tree

After my son died, for whatever reason,

I acquired crippling travel anxiety.

It was mostly around visiting my best friend, Julie, upstate.

Days before, my stomach would tighten

and I’d be plagued with a sense of dread.

Over time, my therapist helped me come up with strategies

to help ease the anxiety so that now, seven years later,

I can travel with ease.

Weeks and weeks ago, Julie and I made plans

and this past weekend I traveled up to spend some time at her place

in a tiny little town in the Catskill Mountains.

As soon as I walked into her house

I was surrounded by dogs.

Lucy, the oldest,

a Doberman/black Lab mix

and two Border Collies,

Sophie and Esther.

I immediately gave the three of them all of my energy

and they gave me all of theirs.

(Do I even need to write how healing that was?)

I made my way outside to the tree we planted

in honor of my son, Judah.

I sat there for hours, listening to the birds

and watching them feed on the feeder

and occasionally land on branches in Judah’s tree.

A Rose Breasted Grosbeak and White Breasted

Nuthatch were the main birds landing on the feeder,

along with my one of my spirit animals,

A Red-Winged Blackbird.

For New Year’s this year, I sat around my neighbor’s table

filled with grapes, cheeses, oranges, and other snacks

as we created a bingo card for 2025. Bronte, whose

table we sat at, came up with the idea, for she had done

it the year before. The idea is, you fill out your card,

monitor how your year goes, and see if you get a bingo.

To me, it’s a cooler idea than having resolutions, especially ones

that won’t stick. It’s a guide to your year, a thought really,

of things you’d like to do.

Some of the things on my bingo card:

Go to museums, yoga on the regular, visit FallingWater,

moon gaze, start a novel, mama-daughter time,

take a poetry class, and spend time crying by Judah’s tree.

Here’s a little poem I wrote about spending time by his tree:

Sitting by his tree.

I’ve played with the dogs,

thrown the Kong over and over.

Listened to birds, read many pages of my book,

had cheese and crackers from a wooden

cutting board Julie brought out with a side of wine.

As I felt the evening chill settling on my shoulders,

watched as the swallows flew about,

their dusk time feeding just beginning,

the red-winged black bird steady on the feeder,

it hit me what day it was.

Sitting there, in the rugged

Adirondack chair,

as I detoxed from the city,

the crazy school year,

breathing in

breathing out,

my bare feet snuggled deep in the grass,

my eyes settled on the trees,

the hills, the skyline and sunshine,

all the beauty around me,

two days after summer solstice,

I realized that it was the exact seven and half year

anniversary of Judah’s death.

Did he do this, did he draw me to his tree,

did he know I needed the space and time to cry?