June 4, 2007 ~ Healing Like Rain
Monday.
We have had the driest spring that I can remember, following on the heels of the very late hard freeze that killed so many buds and leaves. Grass fields, normally lush this time of year, are turning brown. Many plants that were badly stunted or nearly killed by the freeze have given up and died of thirst.
What started out as an incredibly beautiful spring has become rather depressing. The white azalea outside my study window never even bloomed; its buds turned brown with the frost and shriveled without opening. The lilac put forth two little blossoms on one puny spike for the whole nine-foot tall bush. (I missed terribly the wonderful scent it normally gives off). They say we may not have an apple crop at all this year.
We've had to water the garden nearly every day (with well water, thankfully, though that too will be in trouble if this drought continues), when normally it would practically take care of itself this time of year. The ground is so dry that the slightest breeze sends thick dust swirling through the air. It is hard to breathe. The dogs come in from outside and shake great brown clouds into the air. I wake with a sore throat some mornings.
Those of you living in dry areas are probably rolling your eyes, but you have to understand: we are right next to a temperate rain forest. Normally, this time of year, we have rain every day. This place is normally lush and teeming with green most of the year. The ecosystem here needs our normal rain. I've been worried about little things like toads and salamanders. The Great Smoky Mountains area (just a few miles from here) is one of the most biodiverse regions in all of North America. That biodiversity depends on our frequent rain. And we haven't had any. For weeks. Last month was the driest May for the area since they started recording back in 1965. Western North Carolina is in a "severe to extreme" drought.
So. It finally rained on Friday. It wasn't a ton of rain, but enough to wet the ground well. I sat here in my study watching the water come down as I had a conversation with a friend whom I hadn't heard from in years. Both were very healing.
Four years ago, this friend was one of the closest that I had ever had. We shared everything with each other; we inspired each other. I did literally everything in my power to help her through a horrible time in her life. I did my best to be the calm in the storm, and I gave her everything that I could spare.
Rather abruptly, she stopped answering my calls and letters. I didn't know why. I hoped she was okay.
I felt angry and sad and confused, and the whole thing just killed something inside me. I was much slower to trust, much slower to offer help and friendship to others, and a whole lot less confident in myself. It would have been different if we had had a falling out. The unexplained cause behind her silence and the mystery behind her sudden disappearance made me crazy. I finally came to accept that she didn't want my friendship, and I needed to be okay with that. It hurt horribly, but I grieved, and then I let our friendship go.
Years went by. I moved. Got the dogs. Had a baby. Well, a little while ago, out of the blue, she e-mailed me. She was in a much better place, missed me, and hoped I would forgive her for all the lost years.
It was nearly impossible to answer that e-mail. I'd get as far as a salutation and then not have a clue what to say. I had accepted that there was a part of my heart that I had to shut off forever; it was unwanted. And now she was telling me that it could be opened up again. But the hinges were rusty and the knob stuck.
So I finally wrote back. Before I could move forward, I needed to know what had happened years ago, why she had pushed me away and hurt me.
So she told me what had happened over the last few years. But most importantly, she let me know that her silence had everything to do with her and nothing to do with me. I had been an outstanding friend. I had done nothing wrong. She had been in a bad place, had been drowning, and in cutting off the weights that pulled her down, she had cut off the buoys too. And deep down I think I had known those things, but it surely helped to hear them.
As we talked, the rain fell down, breaking the drought, at least temporarily, washing the dust from the leaves. I realized how much dust had gathered on my soul and my trust from the years of silence. As we talked, that dust, too, began to wash away. A part of myself that I'd hid away for years started to emerge again.
I hadn't realized how much the dust had hampered me, until it was gone. Here I sit, wet and clean again, healing.
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