Rosemary and the Tree

I find solace in solitude. Being around others clogs up my senses. I can feel everything that others feel. I can feel depressive episodes, I can feel one’s will and desire for life starting to dwindle. I can feel their soul unravel as they decide whether or not to take that blade and slice open their forearms. I can feel their pain, like a seared knife slicing into their heart over and over again. I can feel them searching for mercy every day while facing the unavoidable truth that their torment is there to stay at night. Feeling this way constantly is unhealthy for anyone, and the magnitude in which I feel these things would be too much for anyone to bear.

I spend most of my days at the cemetery. The ones in the graves are the ones who give me what I need. A sense of calm. Peace. I look at each of the gravestones and just imagine what kind of life that person lived. For instance, there is a man named Ed that died when he was eighty-seven. He was a husband, a father, and a priest. I bet Ed lived a life that was filled to the brim with love. Between his family and God, I am almost positive that Ed constantly felt fulfilled and had a smile on his face. Every Christmas his wife, children, and grandchildren would join him at church for his sermon, and then they would all go back home to a wonderfully delightful dinner and enjoy one another’s company. Laughter, stories, and quality time were important to Ed. Ed was a great man, at least that is how I envision him to be. 

  There is one spot that I love the most at the cemetery. There is this massive tree, almost directly in the center of the cemetery, that I love to sit at just decompress. I feel most at peace at that tree. It is surrounded by graves of people who have many stories to tell, and yet it is so quiet. I can finally just focus on my emotions, but more often than not I just turn everything off and just close my eyes. I listen to the wind blow through the branches of the tree, shaking the leaves to make sure I know that it is there. I listen to the herds of birds fly above me. I listen to the quiet. When I am sitting at that tree, it is almost as if my soul sinks into the ground. I just feel myself melting into the ground, officially becoming one with the earth. Sometimes I put myself in such a relaxed state that I drift off and have dreams of the tree. I dream that the tree takes the shape of a woman, who welcomes me with open arms. This woman has long hair that is tinted green, and she has leaves tangled in her natural waves. Her arms are long, and when she hugs me it feels like she could easily fit an extra person in her bear hug. She smells like fresh-cut grass, one of my all-time favorite scents. 

She has the most soothing way about her. She never speaks, and yet you always know what she is saying. She wants me to be happy. She wants me to feel this at peace forever. The life that I live is not fair to anyone, and she wants me to be protected. She feels like the mother that I never had. Conversations with her seem like they go on for hours. I never tire when I am with her. 

The dream always ends the same way. After our in-depth conversations she always asks one thing as she strokes my cheek with her loving touch: 

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could stay here with me forever?” 

I always want to say yes, but before I do I abruptly wake up. Sometimes I try to go back to sleep so I can reply to her, but I am never able to. 

This time around though I am determined to say yes before I wake up. I know it is crazy that I am this invested in a dream, but this recurring dream is one that I want to explore more. I need to know what happens if I tell her that I want to stay with her forever. 

It was a cozy day. The leaves were starting to change color, it was cool but not too cold, and you could smell fall. It was my favorite time of year and my favorite time to spend at my most favorite place sitting near my most favorite tree.

As I was walking towards the tree I said hello to my pal Ed, and I was passing his grave I came to a sudden halt. I felt like someone had tried grabbing my arm in an effort to stop me dead in my tracks. I felt a sensation of fear and anxiety start to take over me. This was odd. This has never happened here before. I stood there, in disbelief for a few moments, and then decided to move on. I continued onward to my quest of getting to the tree when I swore that I heard my name in the wind. 

“Go back, Rosemary. Go back.”

“Rosemary…”

“Don’t say yes, Rosemary.”

Now my mind was officially playing tricks on me. I suppose I did not have a restful sleep the night before, so that could explain it. With the tree about fifty feet ahead of me I felt that feeling of fear and anxiety start to dissipate. I felt eager to feel that peace that I always felt at the tree, and I was excited to drift into a sweet slumber to explore what would happen if I said yes.

I picked up my pace, and a few moments later, there I was, standing right in front of the tree. I propped up my backpack to the right of me so I could lean against it with my back against the tree, and for some reason, I felt the need to say something out loud.

“I want to stay here forever.”

Then, without a moment’s notice, my eyes closed and I saw her coming towards me. 

She was beautiful as always, with her arms extended out towards me and a loving smile on her face. I ran up to her and allowed her to embrace me in the most beautiful and mothering way, and I felt that peace that I so desired. I think I was in a lucid dream because I felt in complete control of my thoughts, feelings, and actions. Before I knew it I said:

“I know what you are going to ask me, and yes. I do think it would be wonderful if I stayed here with you forever.”

She looked at me with love in her eyes, like a mother looks at their newborn baby. She smiled and then started to open her mouth. I thought that she was finally going to speak to me when all of a sudden her beautiful tinted green hair turned into searing fire, and her loving embrace started to blister my skin. I felt my body start to turn to ash, and I saw what used to be my left arm fall to the ground near her rooted feet. As I felt myself burn and fall, I remember looking up at her and seeing her expression. She was still smiling, but it was not a comforting smile. It was the smile of someone who knows that they just won.

*FOUR YEARS LATER*

I find solace in solitude. I don’t have any friends because they emotionally overwhelm me, so instead, I like to hang out at a cool little cemetery that I found. Every now and again I like to play a little game where I come up with stories about the people in the graves, and I think today I am going to come up with a life story for someone named Rosemary.

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You Don’t Know What Is Possible Until You Try

Growing up, my Mema would always tell me that I should publish a book when I was older. I was very fortunate when my parents divorced because I would spend a lot of time at my grandparent’s house, and every night Mema would read me story after story until my eyelids felt heavy and my busy mind was feeling at peace. Mema would also tell me stories that she would come up with herself, as well as stories about where our ancestors came from. I soaked up every story like a sponge, and I am convinced that Mema’s gift for storytelling was passed down to me. 

I have always been quite imaginative. When I was young I was obsessed with American Girl dolls and Barbies, and the elaborate backgrounds that I would give each doll would often leave the adults in my life in awe. Someone, although I can’t remember who at this exact moment, recently told me that they would listen in on my play sessions because they were fascinated with the stories that I would put my dolls through. I could come up with stories in an instant, and they would be full of depth. My favorite time of year was when we could participate in Young Authors, which was where we were given a blank book that we could write down stories in as well as illustrate them ourselves. That made me feel so alive. Coming up with a pretend world with pretend people and bringing it all to life brought me so much joy and elation, and it also made me feel really proud of myself.

As I became older I learned of different ways to write down stories. One of my fondest memories was in third grade when we started to learn how to write an essay, and I remember writing a nonfiction essay about my aunt’s wedding. Apparently, I did well because my teacher read it aloud for all of my classmates to hear, and you could imagine how elated I was during that moment. My teacher loved what I had to say so much that she wanted everyone else to hear it, and that is one of the greatest feelings in the world. Although I am typically a humble human being, I do love when others enjoy my pieces. I always have loved it, and I always will love it. When someone loves and enjoys one of my pieces, it is one of the biggest compliments that you could ever give me. It brings more value to my life than platinum. 

As I got older, I never strayed away from writing. I would always type out little stories here and there, I would make an attempt at poetry every now and again, or I would just journal. In high school, I participated in journalism for three years, and although it was different than what I was used to it gave me life during a time where I felt like I wasn’t living at all. It gave me purpose, it taught me about deadlines, and it still gave me that feeling of happiness whenever I would see one of my articles in the school paper. It was magic for me. It was an outlet, and it showed me what gave me passion. Journalism was the best part of high school for me, and I will always be grateful for that. 

Once I graduated high school I went on to college, where I changed my major more times than I can count. At first, I wanted to go into journalism, but I was told it was a dying career and that I should avoid doing that at all costs. Then I wanted to go into education, but after speaking with a middle school teacher during my observational hours, she told me to run for the hills. I realized that education wasn’t for me, so I moved on to the next thing. My parents really wanted me to have a career in something that would pay well, but more importantly, would provide excellent health care. Being a type one diabetic is not cheap, and I need the best insurance plan in order to afford my doctor’s visits and medications. So for years I took classes and went into programs for different healthcare fields, and I was unhappy with every single one. It got to the point where I was spending all of this money on school and books and I finally just stopped going to school. I didn’t want to continue with school until I figured out what it was that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. In the back of my mind, I always think about going into a field that will pay me well and offer good benefits, but at the end of the day, nothing was going to give me that happiness that I desired. That is until I realized that there was something that I could do that I could love and be proud of. 

I love writing. I always have loved it, and I always will. I love having thoughts and writing them down, and reading it back feeling totally captivated. I revel at that moment when my family and friends read my pieces and enjoy them. Every time I press publish on my blog, that spark that keeps me alive gets a little bit bigger. I love creating and sharing, and I love connecting with others when I write something that they might relate to. What I am doing now is what I should have been doing all along, and although I can’t get the time back that I wasted trying to figure out what I should do I can embrace the fact that I have finally figured it out and I am doing it now.

You see, a big life lesson that I have learned is that you can hear and accept what people have to say to you when you are given advice, but you are the only one who knows what is truly best for you. Had I stuck on the path that I had originally taken, I would have not wasted all of that time in between. I always had that gut feeling that I would find my way back to storytelling, and it brings me so much happiness that I have found my way back to my passion. To me, hating my job and my life is too steep of a price to pay for having loads of money in my bank account. I am not oblivious to the fact that money is essential to living, but if you are willing to work at it, then following your dream can be possible. You don’t know what is possible until you try. This whole story leads down to one thing: Follow your instinct. Follow your passion. Follow whatever keeps giving your spark life.

Please Don’t Ask Me When I am Going To Have Kids

One of life’s biggest questions is “what are we doing here?” Some people think that they are here to help others, while others think that they are placed on this earth to follow through on a prestigious career path. Others might think that they are here just because their parents decided to fornicate one night and then BOOM. The evolution of cells that would eventually multiply and turn into you commenced. Correct me if I am wrong, but at some point in our mundane lives, we have questioned what we are meant to be doing. What is this big job that we were assigned to when we were given passage to life? You see, I indeed have asked that question myself, but I have known that answer for as long as I can remember. I was put on this earth to be a mom. 

I don’t know how to describe this feeling that I have had for all of these years. It has just been an overwhelming feeling of maternal love that flushes through my body and soul. I remember being incredibly young and playing with baby dolls just pretending to be their mom. I know a lot of young children do that, but I would get really into it. I would love those babies like they were really there. It might have been odd, but back then it gave me a taste of happiness. I was eleven when my youngest brother was born, and I cried the moment I saw him and held him in my arms. He was one of the greatest gifts that I have ever been given, and my love for him is strong. I used to love holding him, singing to him, taking care of him. And while at times he would drive me absolutely mad with his incessant and inconvenient crying, I still loved and continue to love him so incredibly much. I used to take him for walks around the block and imagine what it was going to feel like to be doing this with my own baby, and the thought would bring a smile to my face. 

When I was thirteen or fourteen I started losing a lot of my hair. I would be taking a shower and I would watch as clumps would wash down the drain. I thought it was odd, but at the same time I had really thick hair so I didn’t think too much of it. Then my periods started becoming incredibly painful. I remember crying in hysterics because I was paralyzed from the pain. It felt like someone took a metal rod and stuck it in a fire and then shoved it inside of me. The pain always traveled to my back, and the only thing that would give me temporary relief was the bathtub. My periods starting becoming irregular, and I just knew this was not a good sign. 

Every three to four months I have to go to an Endocrinologist for my type one diabetes, and at the beginning of each appointment they always ask me about my periods. So I informed the nurse about the irregularity of my periods and how incredibly debilitating they have been, and she informed the nurse practitioner of that information. When my NP came in to see me we dived into everything that was going on, including losing my hair. After talking for a bit she informed me that she thought that I had PCOS, and to go see a gynecologist to get an official diagnosis. So off I went to the gynecologist, and a couple of weeks later I got the call confirming the diagnosis. After the doctor told me that I had PCOS, my first question was “Will I be able to have children?” To which they said something along the lines of “The likelihood of you being able to conceive naturally with having PCOS, as well as type one diabetes, is unlikely. With medical assistance, you still might not be able to conceive, and if you did it would be considered high risk.”

That crushed me. I wasn’t even sixteen at that time, and finding out that I was most likely infertile stole every ounce of hope from me. The one thing that I have wanted, that one dream that I had held on to for years was ripped from me. I understood that they said that there was a chance that I could become pregnant naturally, but to a young girl, all I heard was that it was unlikely. I was immediately placed on birth control to help balance out my hormones, and I just continued living my life. It felt like such a slap in the face at the time having to go on birth control. Obviously, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for another life at such a young age, but the idea of my body not wanting to give me the one thing I had always wanted and then being placed on a pill that would also prevent it just felt cruel. But that one phone call, that one diagnosis, and every gynecologist appointment haunted me. 

I had, and continue to have, these reoccurring dreams of me being pregnant, or having children, or me being in labor. The older I became, the more these dreams would play out. In my dreams, I am happy. I am embracing my pregnant belly. I am holding, sniffing, and staring in awe at my baby. I excitedly scream “my water broke!” to my husband. It is such an incredible feeling, and then I wake up and realize it wasn’t real and I just break. Every single time. My heart is just broken. I hate my mind for putting me through that torture. 

Now that I am twenty-six and married, starting a family is at the forefront of our minds. I am prepared to start taking the medications to help me conceive, and if need be, I am willing to try IVF. But IVF doesn’t guarantee a child, so fostering and adoption might be my answer. At the end day, I really don’t care if the baby is related to me biologically. My dream and my desire to be a mother could still be a reality to a child who I didn’t grow inside of me, and I know that I will love any child with every ounce of my being. I want to help shape and mold another person into a wonderful human being, I want to help them explore and find their individuality, and I want to help figure out what their dream is so I can help them achieve it. I want to show them what it feels like to be loved and I want them to see how special they are and how much value they bring to this world. I know that one day I will be a mom regardless of how that child falls into my arms, and I have never been more ready for anything in my entire life.

There is one point that I want to make clear in this piece. The fact of the matter is, yes I am getting older and I am at the age where I could start having babies. But unfortunately, my reality is that it is going to be extremely difficult to conceive on my own. Like I stated before, I might not even conceive with medical assistance. For someone who wants children as badly as I do, imagine how it must feel when people ask me “when are you and Stephen going to start having babies?” In all fairness, it is not like I wear a badge that says “I have fertility issues,” but I also don’t think it is acceptable to ask me when we plan on expanding our family. If I had it my way, I would have two kids by now. Just because I am a woman and am happily married doesn’t give anyone the right to ask me something as personal as when I am having children. What if I didn’t want kids? What if I just had an abortion? What if Stephen was infertile? You never know what a person or a couple is going through, and having them feel the need to explain their situation is so damaging and hurtful. 

I want nothing more than to be a mom. I truly feel like that is why I am on this earth. The reality is I don’t know when or how that is going to happen, but I hold on to the hope that one day my dream will become true. But in the meantime, please don’t ask me when I am going to have kids.