Iced encrusted branches, snow laden limbs, young and straight, old and gnarled—trees.
I notice them much more than I used to, in my previous life. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind brings me peace. I sigh at a perfect dew drop perching on a leaf. The sight of Fall colors blanketing the hills fills me with awe.
I’m giving a talk on recovery from the bloody brain at the 2017 Women of Resilience Conference. I’ve been working on a power point presentation. I’ll start with the symptoms and diagnosis of the brain bleeds, then on to the surgeries. But the bulk of the talk will be about the recovery, coping strategies, compensation techniques, and my life as it is now.
I’m planning to start with the first symptoms then work on through to the latest development—the recent recurrence of seizures.
But I won’t stop there. After all, that is not the end of my story. I need one more slide, an image. Something that answered the question: what next?
As soon as that question brushed against my consciousness, I knew the answer—life. Then I knew what the image should be—a tree. But what tree?
On the day I was born, Dad brought my Mum a gift of flowers, a sprig from the apple tree in their garden—it was May and the tree was in full bloom. Ever since I heard that story, I’ve had a bit of a thing for apple blossoms. They became part of my identity, my essence.
I will finish my presentation with an image of an apple tree in full bloom.