My Back Pages: Goodbye, Love

Before we begin, I would like everyone to skip ahead to 3:31 in this video and listen to it as you read this post. Anyone with a snarky comment about Rent or how my love for a tree in no way resembles the love of a musician for his girlfriend who's dying of AIDS will be summarily executed.

When I was little I used to climb the giant fir tree outside my bedroom window. I would sit in its branches and talk to the squirrels. I would wake up in the morning to the birds calling out for each other from its branches. One spring I watched a robin's nest fill with tiny turquoise eggs. I loved this tree.

My parents have been talking for a while about how the tree's roots have begun to buckle the concrete floor in the basement and cause minor damage to the drain field. They decided that this winter, perish the thought, they would have the tree removed along with two others near our front door. Being the stubborn ass I am, I refused to acknowledge their plans. My mom would suggest that I take pictures before the tree came down and I would respond with "I know not of what you speak." I was content to deny reality for years to come, but last night, in front of the fire, my mother told me that whether I liked it or not the tree would be coming down. Tomorrow.

Well, today is tomorrow. I lost count of the number of times I woke up last night feeling sick to my stomach and fighting back tears. The tree people showed up at 8:00 this morning and, being too upset to watch the slow death of my childhood, I fled to town to do errands. This tree was full-grown when our house was built over 100 years ago. It had more right to be there than we did. There was no way I was going to watch it come down.

I was in the bookstore reading when my dad called to say the tree was gone and that I could come home. I hung up, pretended like I wasn't crying already, and drove back to my house. I'd like to say that having lived nearly 25 years on this planet has toughened my emotions to those of at least a six-year-old. I'd like to say that when I saw the pile of sawed rounds and the mountain of sawdust that had been, only four hours earlier, my favorite tree, I nodded and said to myself, "Okay." I would love to say that. Instead, I burst into tears. It was like a family member had died, the way I was convulsing and choking on my sobs in such a dramatic fashion. If I had been someone observing the scene I would have rolled my eyes and thought, "Oh get over yourself." But the truth is, it was truly devastating. It still is. The light shines into my room differently now--a blast of brightness that makes me feel exposed and intruded upon, like I'm on display. It was such a beautiful tree. I feel like a monster for letting it be toppled.