It’s Saturday morning and laundry load #2 spins while I enjoy a tea latte and rays of sun. More chores require my attention, but they are content to wait, to allow this day to unfold purposefully and leisurely.
I scroll through some pictures on my phone, thinking that it is time to delete a few.
And this one stops me.
Not because it is particularly unique or stunning – it’s just a little hillside path from a brief bike-hike a few weekends ago. At the time what caught my eye was the contrast between angled green foreground and horizontal purple background.
What stops me today, however, is the unintended focal point of the composition, the juxtaposition of two trees – one dead, one alive. One black etching on a background of green. One skeleton on a hillside of life.
And then I realize that this unassuming snapshot is actually a perfect visual metaphor for living with loss. The grief doesn’t go away. It is always part of the picture somewhere.
But only a part.
The rest of the picture teems with life that keeps reaching for light and anchoring in steep rocky soil and waving and whispering in even the slightest breeze.
Just because death exists doesn’t mean that life stops.
And because life continues, sometimes we forget to acknowledge that for many there is a resident grief-tree. A photobomber of life moments.
But maybe, just maybe, the presence of grief makes all the green-ness of life that much more meaningful and rich and appreciated.
By grace alone.