Goodnight Irene

(Photo by Kris Mu00f8klebust on
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A 40-45 foot giant oak in my front side yard is in its final stages of being dismantled by professionals at this very moment. I have been crying on and off throughout the morning, peeking out on the so-called progress when I could. Goodnight Irene. You’ve served this bit of earth well and I salute you.

Gentle Irene. Irene was most likely 250-300 years old. Between 1721 and 1771 Irene sprouted up from the ground with hopes and dreams of housing a variety of animals, shading for creatures requiring it, soaking up glorious sunshine and delicious rain, spreading her roots deep into the rocky hillside in order to communicate efficiently with her neighbors, and growing into a source of comforting useful respite. Irene has done all of this very well, until the one day a sickness arrived.

Personality-Plus Irene. Irene identified as male, but enjoyed the play of the name, “Irene,” when introducing himself to others with a full face of bold colors and a mix of non-gender conforming adornments. It was a terrible time when Irene began losing his life’s glow. He has spent the last few years becoming more uncomfortable and despondent.

Poor Irene. It’s only taken about three years for Irene to deteriorate to the point of needing merciful intervention. Professionals were called, appointments were scheduled, and a decision was made. Instead of neglecting Irene to fall into a painfully destructive death path, clear and concise professional support arrived to allow Irene a kinder exit into a transformed place.

Goodnight Irene. I watched from a very safe distance high up on the hill as they began relieving you of your sick, painful, weary limbs. With every ground shaking reverberating thud to the ground of what had been a part of the dying you, I felt your immense relief of all of the burdens you no longer had to try to maintain a brave stance and hold onto. I stayed as witness to your transformation into wood chips, forest dust debris, and saw-ended chunks for more animal burrows and child’s play, until I no longer felt your presence. You have moved on from the form you held here. There’s just a bit of cleanup remaining for the much appreciated transition experts.

Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you for showing us how to grow to be the most we can be and to graciously let go when it is our time. Those walkers, flyers, climbers, slitherers, etc through these hills in all of the generations before our time have been honored to be in your presence. You were pretty damn cool. Goodnight Irene.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

that’s right – his name was Irene and I will be grieving for a hawt minute. So many feelings. Irene was also GrandmotherHerisme’s name, and I was privileged to be present for her transition too. It was something truly moving. When she moved on, she had moved on – there was no question about it. Goodnight to both Irenes.

Leadbelly is awesome...
Stephen Fry rules and that Harry Styles kid is great too!

One thought on “Goodnight Irene

  1. Pingback: Un Petit Exposé | HERISME

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