We never know when, how or why loss is going to hit us.  It happened to me the other week in the strangest of ways.  For the last three years, I’ve nurtured a beautiful fig tree.  She’d grown to five feet high, and was happy and healthy.  Unfortunately, though many plants are shipped across the US/Canadian border commercially, when you move house you have to leave them behind. 

I wanted my cherished tree to go to a special friend, someone who’d be thrilled to look at her every day, and reminisce on our good times together.  A mutual friend with a pick-up truck offered to help with transportation.  We piled on a load that included other items not allowed for personal cross-border shipment (like mattresses—lest there be bed bugs).  Our journey to my friend’s office was short.  But, when we arrived, the fig tree was nowhere to be found:  on the truck or on our route, when we backtracked.  Its pot was still there—empty and secure.

The mystery of the missing fig tree preoccupied me all day and beyond.  Out of the blue, something that meant more to me than I’d realized was gone—for ever.  What happened to her?  Did she suffer?  Would she be taken care of?  Why was she missing?  Was there a message in her disappearance—greater meaning and symbolism.  How my mood shifted, in a heartbeat, indicated that there was.  Pining over the loss of a tree, had me reflecting on my coping skills for other losses—past, future, and ongoing.

Life is full of loss, and sometimes we never miss something or someone till they’re gone.  Only later do we realize what they represent(ed) to us.  Many of us fear the loss of close ones, and worry about not giving them enough time due to busy day-to-day schedules.  Many losses are expected, but many aren’t.  It’s the ones that take us by surprise that remind us we can’t control everything or everyone.  There’s a bigger plan, and it’s not one that we might have put together.

Sometimes, looking back, we’re better able to understand what’s happened.  Other times, we constantly seek explanation (and relief).  Again, how things play out and are understood or accepted is also not always in our control.  However, our attitude is:  having the fortitude to go on and recognize wake-up calls.  The loss of my fig tree certainly put me on alert—to be more cautious, careful, and appreciative.  Although, a fig tree is a living organism, it’s still a material object, and replaceable (despite any sentimental value).  Human loss, on the other hand, is far less easily resolved.