The Annual Rebirth

Posted in Monthly at 9:03 am by Pasha

By Pasha Holiday

The trees outside of my bedroom window have gone through a metamorphosis; the kind that happens every spring.

Now well into the month of May, I have watched the two aging trees change by nearly dying and once again birthing new life. Each morning I open my eyes to the two of them. The smaller one, closer to the neighbors fence, bloomed two full weeks before its partner. First it gave off bunches of green, almost blooms, with one single red leaf in the middle. By now the blooms have opened into clusters of mauve-red leaves.

The older partner, which nearly dwarfs the middle aged symbol, has also bloomed. But his clusters have not opened to reveal leaves or nuts or whatever kind of foliage the tree bears.

And as my life becomes as simple and as complicated as these two trees, I realize that they are not just God’s way of waving to me each morning (which they most definitely are); They are also a parallel life that is running its way into the season of my own life.

I too am really just blooming for the summer. My barren limbs once again sprouting life and hope for a fruitful summer, evident by my fire engine red toe nail polish. All winter long I lay dormant and complacent with a disregard for most of what the summer of 2009 will mean to me. As May ticks along and threatens to turn into June it becomes clear what is happening to me. I am settling for a life and marriage that will probably die along the way. Maybe once a year, maybe more. And after it drops all of its leaves, all of its regard, all of its beauty, there will always be hope for another spring that unfolds into summer.

These last three months before I get married are already seemingly daunting. It truly is not the planning of a week-long wedding celebration, or the jitters you get when knowing two families will be joined for better or for worse. It is my insecurity that scares me. I know that no matter what happens I will love my husband-to-be. My love for him has yet to wane and I don’t think it will ever stop. My insecurities pop up in the fact that sometimes in love, in life and especially in marriage, people stop trying.

Over the past four years we have had dormancy in our relationship. It is the times when we barely talk, when we stop reaching for one another under the covers, when we each stay late at work to muffle the sounds of home. At the end of those winters we have always come to spring, a time when we both acknowledge that we have all but stopped trying, that the wind has left our sails.

The time that follows our sleepy winters has usually been passionate and a time when we actually feel connected instead of just two parts living together. After the April storms, the fire and crashing sounds they make, we usually bloom each time with new life, new comprehension and new meaning to what we have …. or we relive last years enlightenment. But it has always consistently happened … we wake up from our slumbering effort and give our union a gallant and fulfilling effort.

But I am scared. I am terribly nervous that somewhere in marriage spring will forget to come: that summer will never arrive: that I will feel the cold and isolation of being two people under one roof indefinitely. Sometimes I discuss the hibernation period too much; sometimes my partner seems smothered under my constant need for sun.

As I watch the two trees beyond my window bloom and grow leaves once more, I am hopeful for this summer, for the seasons of my life and the one I will soon share. If in my future, one year the spring never comes, I will know that it did not work. That the love I tried to grow and share somehow was not rooted properly, watered enough or pruned back to grow to its fullest. And each spring I will look to the life that surrounds me and know that there will always be a rebirth.