Scars

Throughout my life I’ve been a collector of scars.

     They are not like the scars I wear on my skin. I have lots of those. Little reminders of foolish mistakes, daring chances and risky behavior that didn’t go the way I planned. The majority of these physical scars that mark my body are here by my own doing. There is no one else to blame. Some of these scars I wear proudly and are reminders of a life well lived.

     I have other scars. I can’t see them and have no physical reminders on my person of past trauma or the pain they represent. These are the scars that nobody can see. We all have them, and unless we share the stories of these hidden scars no one would know of them. Most of us don’t talk about these scars. They are the scars of events in our lives that had the most influence in shaping who we’ve become.

     When I was a youth pastor, there was an exercise I used to try to bring about healing from some of these scars that young people carry with them. I would ask them to write down on a piece of paper or card an instance in their life where they felt they needed forgiveness for something they had done. Underneath that event I asked them to write down an instance where they needed to forgive someone else for a wrong perpetrated against them. And lastly, I asked them to write down something in their life that they needed to let go of. Something that was weighing them down and preventing them from experiencing the joy that life was offering them. We would be seated around a fire and I would ask them to spend some time in meditation about these things. When they had written down the three requests and were ready to let them go, I asked them to get up and throw the cards in the fire and let the fire consume their troubles.

     This may have been an overly simplistic solution to their issues but it was a start. I felt relief when one by one they would get up from their chairs and toss the cards in the fire. It’s was usually a very emotional time for our group and you could sense a relief and healing that resulted from this simple act. I was proud of them for the courage it took to get up if front of their peers and confess their fears and perceived injustices that were shaping their lives.

     Often when you are in a group and emotions are running high it can be a problem when people just do what others are doing to conform or assimilate to the group. So, it’s possible that some of the tears were just emotionalism run rampant. That’s why I felt the most compassion for the odd young person that couldn’t bring himself to forgive or be forgiven and could never let go of the burden that was weighing them down. They never made it to the fire. These may have been the most honest in the groups. They knew that this exercise oversimplified what it was going to take to get over their trauma. And rightly so.

     All my life I’ve been an avid explorer of forests, marshlands, streams and meadows in wild places. I often bring home specimens for further study or just to add to a collection of bones, fungi, feathers, snake skins, turtle shells etc. Recently, my wife made for me a beautiful hand stitched leather satchel complete with specimen jars and space for my binoculars. (She’s thoughtful like that.) I can now wander the wild with a place to carry my found treasures.

     As with most writers and other artistic people, I tend to be introspective. Sometimes, dwelling on the past, and spending too much time and head space feeling melancholy.

    Twenty-five years ago, our oldest son fell eighty feet from a cliff while rock climbing, he sustained a traumatic brain injury. We were told he wouldn’t live through the night, and if he did, he would be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. He was in a coma for a month. When he woke up, he had to be trained to walk, talk, feed himself, use the bathroom etc.… 

     Our son died in that accident. The person that now resides in his body only resembles our son. He has frequent seizures, temper out bursts and almost no short-term memory. He can’t run, or ride a bike, or drive a car, he can’t work, or go for hikes. He can however, remember his old life. He was a Marine, extremely fit, engaged to a wonderful woman, his whole life was ahead of him. He was only twenty. In spite of all this he carried on with a determined zeal. He is now married and living in the same town as his siblings who help out when needed.

     Fifteen years ago, our oldest daughter died leaving behind four children. A cause of death was never determined. She was vibrant, healthy and full of life.

    I know this may seem extraordinarily sad to you, the reader. I only tell you these things so you will better understand my actions concerning my new leather satchel. My wife and I have had an exceptionally wonderful life. In spite of these events and others, it’s been a life filled with love and adventure and gratitude. If I have learned anything in this life, it is that it’s as much a privilege to feel sorrow as it is to feel joy.

     So, I’ve decided my first foray into the forest with my new satchel, will be used not for bringing back gifts from wild places, rather it will be used to carry gifts into wild places. My gifts will be my scars. Each one represented in a seed that I will plant in places of wildness that I have come to love the most.

      An Acorn, from an oak tree for my son Adam, to represent the strength and endurance it’s taken for him to get this far, and for the unwavering support his family has provided. I hope it grows huge and lives for hundreds of years providing food and shelter and beauty for all who find themselves under its canopy.

     For our daughter Larysa, there is no flower beautiful enough to represent your bright smile or infectious laughter so, I’m going to bring with me a beech nut and plant it beside the spring because, it’s my favorite tree. Often when I see them, their many saplings are growing up under the protection of her branches. I think of the mother tree providing sustenance unseen, underground, through her roots.

     When I was in my early thirties I had a pet raven, really, I hesitate to call him a pet, he was more like a very dear friend. I credit him for pulling me out of a very dark place and helping me to find my purpose. His loss was devastating. He still visits me in dreams occasionally, and every time he does, I am renewed. That scar will be represented by a cutting from a flaming azalea which I will plant along the ridgeline overlooking the surrounding hills. The azalea represents spring and renewal to me like no other mountain flower.

     There are many wild places that I’ve come to know in my life that are no longer wild. They are buried under asphalt and concrete. The loss of these places has scarred me deeply and have left me feeling like I am living on sifting sand. Like I need to constantly adjust my position just to stand in place or be lost. It’s a haunting notion that this is only temporary, that no place is sacred anymore and any place I bond to is likely to be bulldozed. So, I am afraid to attach myself to any area I’ve lived. In some ways this is the deepest and most destructive emotional scar I carry and will be represented by as many different seeds as I can find to plant a new place of wildness along with a renewed dedication to protect and nurture my wild home now.

     There are many other scars. I choose not to write about them. We all have them. I don’t know how you deal with yours, but I’m going to be sixty-six years old this August. I’m tired of carrying them around and I need to do something positive with these scars I’ve accumulated. I’m going to plant seeds.