There is a common expression, “You can’t see the forest for the trees.”
It means you can get so caught up in focusing on what is right in front of your face, you lose sight of the bigger picture or perspective. It is very easy to do.
Every day we must react to the multitude of things that are thrown our way. Things from our job or many other responsibilities. If you’re anything like me, your mind is almost constantly churning. I often feel overwhelmed by all the different things that seemingly need my attention every minute of the day.
It’s easy to get stuck living moment to moment, seeing only the “trees” that represent the immediate activities and emotions of your life. It’s often hard to view the entire forest that represents your overall life.
We can lose sight of the path we have taken so far, and the direction we want to head in the future. And we can unexpectedly be thrust into a life we didn’t plan for…or want.
My 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, died suddenly in 2009. And I found myself transplanted into a thick grove of new, unfamiliar “trees” in the forest that is my life.
These trees were big and scary. They grew so thick and tight, they blocked out any trace of the light from the sky. While I had some sense of direction in the previous area of the forest I inhabited, this grove of trees filled me with an indescribable pain and left me groping in the dark. I desperately tried to find a way out and back to the area I was before. But I could find none. I was lost in the forest, overwhelmed with grief.
Each humongous tree that surrounded me represented a painful feeling or emotion that I was forced to grapple with.
These trees signified feelings of guilt, helplessness, hopelessness, isolation, disbelief, despair, torment. And too many more to list. Every time I tried to force my way out of this grove of trees, I was just left bruised and battered and stuck. It exhausted me to the point where I would just fall down and sleep for long periods of time.
After remaining in this grove for quite a while, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Now, when I looked, I could make out the trees in the distance that once surrounded me. But they were out of reach. There was no path I could find to go back. It was all irrevocably blocked by the horrible reality of Margareta’s death.
I resentfully resigned myself to the understanding that I was stuck in this grove of darkness and despair. I tearfully understood that the life I once led would never come back. Once you feel this level of pain, it is like innocence lost forever to the harsh realities of life.
Then a strange, unexpected thing happened.
Instead of fighting to escape these trees of grief by squeezing my way out, I forced myself to accept them.
I embraced them as a representation of how much love I still have for my daughter. In doing this, I discovered I could climb these trees; grasping each limb on their thick trunks. I worked to express my feelings about those trees in counseling, support groups, and writing about it. Each time I did, I could climb a bit higher to where the branches thinned out and let light and fresh air in.
Over the course of several long years, I climbed all the way to the top of that grove of trees. And from that vantage point, I could see that all hope was not lost.
I could see the forest of my life. The path I had taken to get here and different ways I could move forward and out of this thick grove of grief trees. But it would take work and dedication. It would take a new perspective on the meaning and purpose of my life. And a willingness to accept that it will never be the path I intended to take.
I slowly climbed down the outer branches of that grove, trusting that they would not break and let me fall. I climbed down with a new understanding. While all of these trees in my forest of life appear to be separate from above the ground, their roots are forever intertwined below it. These intertwining roots of good and bad, love and pain, happiness and despair strengthen my forest and keep it alive and thriving. We cannot truly understand and appreciate each of these feelings without having experienced their opposite.
So as I continue to make my way through my forest of life, I find that I experience things on a deeper level than before.
I choose to focus my attention on the trees that bring the most meaning to my life. These trees usually represent relationships, passions, and feelings of purpose.
I no longer am certain of the path my life will take, but I know that no matter what happens there will always be a way forward. And if I get lost among unfamiliar trees, I will once again embrace and climb them to remind myself of where I came from, where I am now, and where I can go from here.
And you can too.
Beautifully written piece that takes me to the heart of your grief and climb out of a place incredible sadness to rejoin life. My thoughts and prayers are with you on your journey so that you will continue to find strength and energy to climb any trees of the future.
Thank you, Michelle
I am lost in the forest. Tomorrow is 2 years since I was able hug and kiss Amy. Hope seems impossible from where I stand today, but it is my sincerest hope that the view changes some day. In the meantime, I remain grateful for your posts. Remembering your Margareta.
Anniversary days are never easy and a harsh reminder of the worst day of our life. You, your precious Amy, and your family are in my thoughts…today and every day. Take extra care of yourself today.
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing your experience and vision of hope for those of us who are not as far along this journey.
Thank you, Jennifer, for your continued support of this site.
You create a visual of the journey that pours out hope for those still stuck in the thick forest of grief. Thank you for sharing your heart. My sympathies for the loss of your precious Margareta.
Thank you, Denise
Thank you, Maria. I love the image of climbing trees in a forest. When I lost my own daughter, I remember feeling like frozen mud for the first year and more. The solid, thick mud has slowly thawed over the past four years. I think I’m ready to tackle the dense forest now. All the different trees, the possible paths through the trees, the ever increasing snatches of light in between them – It’s a much brighter, lighter place to put myself after these years in the mud. Thank you, my fellow mother of a daughter who lives in her heart.