No NO NO. I don't mean the new bub's been born yet. Stand down. I am of course referring to a few days of sunshine, and the feeling of liberation that warm weather offers.
It is a peculiar time of year for me. April 1 rolls around with unerring regularity, and while I spend no time thinking about it before, the date marks the anniversary (6th this time) of my accident. The whole April fool's day business means that the date never passes unnoticed where perhaps it would if the date was less observed. It is inevitably the same for families that experience a major event on or around Christmas, inevitably imbuing the biggest marker in the year with poignancy.
In my case, I think nothing of it until it is upon me, and I spend the day scratching the itch that I spend the rest of my life avoiding. Like shoving your tongue in the painful gap from where a tooth has been pulled, I replay the sequence of events, try and recapture the blissful ordinariness of the morning of April 1st 2005, and the extra-ordinariness of every day since.
This is not to say that thoughts on the day are completely negative. It also acts as an opportunity to reflect on how far I have come. It makes me appreciate the support and love that I get from family and friends. It makes me grateful to have found a different career, one that I enjoy and (dare I say it) one that I am pretty good at.
Perhaps inevitably though, the day mostly belongs to thoughts of what might have been and trying to ensure I don't forget things. What it feels like to have grass between your toes, or aching feet.
Running.
Bunny-hopping a bicycle over a tree stump (and the sudden lurching feeling when you get it wrong just before you disappear over the handlebars).
The nervous balancing process involved in climbing over railings.
Dancing. Proper dancing.
Stairs. Walking up and down stairs. This is one that I have almost forgotten. The only enduring memory is the satisfaction of leaping up them three at a time (or in the case of our front steps, being able to do the whole flight of 6 in one bound. Now it takes the lift a good thirty seconds, and that's after the minute and a half it takes to open). I even remember running down escalators three steps at a time. Sometimes I find it surprising that I've lasted as long as I have.
SO this year, I decided to keep my counsel on April 1st. Then today I visited Kew Gardens for an article I am writing. The conversation inevitably turned to tree surgery and my story. It will come as no surprise that I am not the first (nor will I be the last) tree surgeon to suffer a similar fate. But others have returned to the world of horticulture and arboriculture. I made a decision to move in a different direction, and today I felt some sadness about this choice. But what may surprise some people is that the biggest sadness I feel is at not being able to climb trees anymore. It was something that felt right. I felt free, able to overcome a challenge. Unrestricted. Were I to return to that world, I would forever feel like my wings had been clipped. I wouldn't be free.
My only hope is that I never forget what that freedom felt like.
It is a peculiar time of year for me. April 1 rolls around with unerring regularity, and while I spend no time thinking about it before, the date marks the anniversary (6th this time) of my accident. The whole April fool's day business means that the date never passes unnoticed where perhaps it would if the date was less observed. It is inevitably the same for families that experience a major event on or around Christmas, inevitably imbuing the biggest marker in the year with poignancy.
In my case, I think nothing of it until it is upon me, and I spend the day scratching the itch that I spend the rest of my life avoiding. Like shoving your tongue in the painful gap from where a tooth has been pulled, I replay the sequence of events, try and recapture the blissful ordinariness of the morning of April 1st 2005, and the extra-ordinariness of every day since.
This is not to say that thoughts on the day are completely negative. It also acts as an opportunity to reflect on how far I have come. It makes me appreciate the support and love that I get from family and friends. It makes me grateful to have found a different career, one that I enjoy and (dare I say it) one that I am pretty good at.
Perhaps inevitably though, the day mostly belongs to thoughts of what might have been and trying to ensure I don't forget things. What it feels like to have grass between your toes, or aching feet.
Running.
Bunny-hopping a bicycle over a tree stump (and the sudden lurching feeling when you get it wrong just before you disappear over the handlebars).
The nervous balancing process involved in climbing over railings.
Dancing. Proper dancing.
Stairs. Walking up and down stairs. This is one that I have almost forgotten. The only enduring memory is the satisfaction of leaping up them three at a time (or in the case of our front steps, being able to do the whole flight of 6 in one bound. Now it takes the lift a good thirty seconds, and that's after the minute and a half it takes to open). I even remember running down escalators three steps at a time. Sometimes I find it surprising that I've lasted as long as I have.
SO this year, I decided to keep my counsel on April 1st. Then today I visited Kew Gardens for an article I am writing. The conversation inevitably turned to tree surgery and my story. It will come as no surprise that I am not the first (nor will I be the last) tree surgeon to suffer a similar fate. But others have returned to the world of horticulture and arboriculture. I made a decision to move in a different direction, and today I felt some sadness about this choice. But what may surprise some people is that the biggest sadness I feel is at not being able to climb trees anymore. It was something that felt right. I felt free, able to overcome a challenge. Unrestricted. Were I to return to that world, I would forever feel like my wings had been clipped. I wouldn't be free.
My only hope is that I never forget what that freedom felt like.
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