Death of a Dogwood: Reflections on Grief One Year Later
One year ago this month, the mother of one of our best friends was killed in a motor vehicle accident. It was the first of two unexpected deaths for our family just two months into the pandemic. It was also the month I was diagnosed with depression.
In hindsight, I was overwhelmed. Depression had been brewing for two years. The weight of grief was almost more than I could bear.
Have you been there? Have you experienced just one more grief than you could carry on your own? Sometimes, this can be the place where we learn to trust God the most. When we’ve got nothing left on our own, we learn to trust God because we have to trust God.
I wrote an article reflecting on the lessons I learned in my year of grief. It was published last year, but I felt today was the right day to re-share it here. Below, you’ll find the beginning of the article. I left a link at the bottom so you can read the rest at Joyful Life Magazine.
Soli Deo Gloria ~ N.
My beloved dogwood tree died. I never should have planted it in the first place. Dogwoods don’t grow well at my elevation in northern California. I knew that when I chose to plant my tree 10 years ago, but I didn’t care. “Plant it anyway,” I told my husband.
I wanted to plant a dogwood tree as a reminder of the two happy years we spent living in North Carolina. When I think of our Cary, North Carolina home, I think especially of the huge tree in our next door neighbor’s front yard. Miss Joan had two dogwoods, one white, one pink, that had somehow grown into each other over the years so they appeared as one tree producing two colors. I wanted a huge tree like that in the front yard of our California home to represent the years when our young family was happy, healthy, and hopeful for the future.
Each winter my tree stood naked and, more than once, someone wondered if it was dead. “Wait for it,” I would say. Sure enough, just as the weather hinted of spring, buds would appear overnight. Then, a few blooms would break forth, their soft pink color a stark contrast to the still leafless trees lining the street. Within days, it was an embarrassing display of color. Countless times, I witnessed strangers stop on their daily walk to admire my dogwood tree in full bloom. It truly was beautiful.
A SEASON OF OVERWHELM
This spring, just like always, the tree blossomed. Except this year, the leaves didn’t come. One day, I stood looking at my tree wondering, What happened? A week later, with still no leaves, I spoke my fear: “I think my tree died.” I clung to hope for one more week before I admitted the truth. “My tree is dead.” And I cried.
Of course, it wasn’t simply about the tree. The death of my tree was just the last in a string of losses, and there was no holding back the tears. This particular spring, my family was not thriving. Within a month, we experienced the death of a close friend and the death of our brother-in-law. We were still in quarantine from the coronavirus, which meant we couldn’t be with our friends and family to hug them, help them, or just be with them as they grieved. Nor could we have them near us as we processed our own grief.
Within the limits of my circumstances I did what I could: I sent cards and flowers, I checked in with frequent texts, and I prayed for my loved ones constantly. Still, it didn’t feel like enough.
The physical boundaries that were out of my control frustrated me, adding to my grief.
After the death of my brother-in-law, my husband left to help his sister manage the many details that come with a sudden death. It was during the two weeks of his absence when I noticed my tree had died. Over the phone, I tried to explain how overwhelmed I felt. I listed off the losses in order: “Diane died. Peder died. And now, my tree has died.” Of course, those things are not equal, and it surprised me to hear those last words escape my lips. Really, the tree is on the list? But yes, the tree was on the list because it was a loss of something special. In this season, I simply didn’t have the reserves to handle the death of a tree.
I struggled with the timing of these events. Why would God allow these things to happen at a time when isolation felt like the worst thing and all I wanted was community? Just weeks earlier, my soul was satisfied with quality friend time, a vibrant Bible study group, and meaningful work. Now, physically isolated from my friends and my husband, my soul felt dry and withered. I was brittle and easily overwhelmed. Like my dogwood tree, I’d gone from blooming to dried up.
Usually, I’m the person people go to for encouragement in times of despair. I have made it a practice to find hope in remembering God’s attributes and applying them to the situation. “God is sovereign, therefore He is sovereign in this.” But in this season, I found it difficult to keep up this practice. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe those things to be true or that I had forgotten how to walk the steps to find hope. I struggled because I was overwhelmed. I found it hard to think clearly, as if my brain was moving through mud. Information came at me fast, but my response time was slow. Life continued—my kids needed to be fed, my bosses needed me to work. But everything felt heavy, slow, and difficult. My daily rhythms of waking early for Bible study and prayer fell by the wayside. I functioned in survival mode.
RHYTHMS OF FAITHFULNESS
Still, I found ways to process those things in the safety of my relationship with Jesus. Despite my muddy brain and emotional overwhelm, I refused to give up what I have learned is my lifeline in times of despair: my ongoing conversation with my Savior.
…… for the rest of the story….
PLAYLIST OF SONGS FOR COMFORT
Let’s be email friends. As a thank you, I’ll share my go-to playlist for when I need to be reminded of God’s comforting presence. Old and new, these songs are the finest balm.