Somewhere in the sorrow following a death, I parted with myself.

I didn’t notice it at first. The flurry of comforting words, the grimaces and notes of apology, the solemn gatherings and celebrations of life all distracted me from my departure. It wasn’t until after the funeral I noticed that I was missing. It was just little things at first: a smile’s absence, declining a friend’s call. Soon I was avoiding company, dodging thought and feeling, idly watching emptiness gnaw a chasm within.

Was I gone forever? Worry dogged me until I became desperate to find some clue as to how to end this disembodiment, this sense of separation tearing me apart. I made efforts to engage in life once more – to connect with friends, make plans, do anything in the hopes some internal recognition would take place and I would be whole again. But nothing changed.

I couldn’t bear it anymore. I took to haunting a local park, relentlessly walking forested trails, hoping the act of putting one foot in front of the other would lead me to some unknown destination where I might recover myself.

Something caught my eye during a circuit of the forest. Slightly blocked by the undergrowth adjacent to the trail was a narrow, trampled dirt path. I looked around, wondering if this might be another trail I hadn’t noticed before. I hesitated, then stepped onto the path and followed its descent down a sloping hill. It was pressingly quiet, I realized the twittering of birds had faded somewhere behind me. I kept my eyes to the ground, careful to keep my footing as I made my way to the bottom of the hill where a patch of sunlight glimmered through the trees.

Finally I stood blinking in the sunlight on a dry creek bed’s embankment. Before me, resting in the middle of the creek, was a large rock formation. Its jagged surface was fully encased by a web of tree roots plunging into the earth, each connected to a ring of trees that wound around the rock, their trunks bending and twisting as they stretched toward the sky.

Entranced, I slowly approached the rock, shale in the creek crunching loudly beneath my feet and echoing in the silence. Up close, the trees looked ancient, their trunks and branches rough and gnarled. Only their bright green canopies betrayed their recent seasonal rebirth. My eyes fell to the roots, an interlocking chain that recalled the intricate, Celtic designs of the Tree of Life. Perhaps that was what these trees were, their roots extending invisibly to their branches, creating a never-ending chain of support to the life above them as well as below. Like the symbol they so resembled, could these trees hold the answer to balance, unity, and harmony in life? Could they perhaps hold the answer as to how to unite myself once more? Without thinking twice, I reached out and grasped one of the roots before me.

It would be a lie to say something truly miraculous happened in that moment. Instead, I looked around for what felt like the first time in a very long time. I took in the lush forest surrounding me, the sunlight shining in the blue sky overhead. I inhaled deeply, aware of musky earthiness clinging to the heavy air. I couldn’t get enough of what I was sensing; what I was feeling. I was connected to both earth and sky. I was brethren among these trees, a link in the interlocking web of life before and surrounding me within this forest, within the world. Looking down, I saw the prints of animals who had stood in this same spot along the journey of their own lives and I even caught sight of the faded footprints of another person who had also discovered this space.

I stood there, still clutching one of the roots and, in that moment, realized I could not be found. Grief had taken my old self away. It wasn’t coming back. The realization was neither happy nor sad; it was a fact. It was time I began to accept a new season, to once more replant myself in life. A breeze swept through the leaves on the ring of trees. It was as though they had murmured in agreement.