Living among the trees

By Kath Lowe

I love this view, its become much more of just a view to me. It was remembrance weekend 2010 when I woke with an explosion in my head, pain spread from the back of my skull to my eyes. I knew something terrible was happening so I woke my husband and were hurried to hospital. We say for seemingly hours amongst last night’s squashed knuckles and scraped knees. When I was sick a vortex of humans whirled me into a corner and pilot fished all over my body looking for evidence, taking blood, scans, reflexes, asking too many questions. Everything was so loud, the lights were too bright, I just want to sleep. An earnest doctor man came to tell me I’d had a brain homepage, a kind of stroke. The day I left hospital it began to snow, the city was locked in ice; it was really hard for people to visit me. When I started trying to go out I fell over loads. My house became a prison and I felt very isolated. During these weeks of convalescence I spent hours at my window watching the ever-changing landscapes of the valley. The hundreds of birds in the trees outside promised spring with fantastic dots of colour and deafening songs. I knew I had to get out into the woods; I was alive but not living. On my first venture I made it to the bowling green and back, it took ages but when I got home and looked out of my window I felt like there was a world waiting for me to find it. Almost every day since I’ve walked in the parks, sometimes alone, often with dogs, friends and family; Heaton park, Armstrong park and up through Jesmond Dene. My soul is soothed by the constantly changing sense, sounds and colours of the woods there. Previously as a landscaper I’d often worked in gardens along the valley and drawn inspiration from the plants around me, now I was able to appreciate everything just for the joy of it. 

Two years had passed when my view took on even more meaning for me. On Remembrance Day 2012 I was preparing to see my mam on her vigil. I looked at the valley towards the freeman hospital where she’d been at my stepfather’s bedside for two weeks. He’d had a massive heart attack, never regained consciousness and she’d had nothing to do but hold his hand and wait. As I dressed, a nurse rang to say he’d died; I rushed to the hospital and was there in minutes. Me and mam sat holding his cooling hands and we had a weep but I could tell she wanted to leave; ‘come on, lets get out of here’ we packed bags and signed forms almost hurriedly. Emerging from the hospital and out into the dazzling autumn sun was just wonderful. We strolled across paddy freemans and down into the Dene. Inhaling deeply we filled our lungs with fresh, clean air ridding our noses of the smells of death. Bronze and russet leaves above us looked fabulous against the blue of the sky; temporarily our hearts were eased. While we walked home we talked about how lucky we were to live among such beauty and the birds sang like there could be nothing wrong in the world.