I didn't know.

When this tree fell last year I have to say I was more than distressed, for several reasons. First, I have to say that surprisingly and fortunately, it didn't happen during the hurricane. I was surprised because it was during one of those unannounced storms . . . not much advanced warning or hype associated with it. The sun was shining that morning. But I consider myself fortunate because it went ahead and fell before the big storm, during which it could have done more damage to the house.

My distress began with the rain. I am not normally scared of storms and I like the rain, but this was different. It got dark and within minutes the wind was blowing and it was raining sideways. Horizontal rain. So I hid in the hall bathroom and peeked out the office window every few minutes.

This part might not have actually happened, but in my mind I think I remember a noise I've never heard before or since. It wasn't the thunder, and it wasn't the tree crashing against anything. It was sort of like that little sound that I've heard before when I'm on an airplane and the pressure makes my ears pop. Except this sound was somehow bigger, affecting more than just my ears, and I was even more scared because it represented the unknown.

When the rain turned vertical I got up from the bathroom floor and went to my back door to look out. I saw sky like I'd never seen it before . . . because it had never been there before. That space had always belonged to the big tree I loved.

I went immediately back towards the front of the house and sat propped up within the door frame of my office, watching more of the heavy rain as it splashed and steamed off of the street. I couldn't tell the difference between crying and breathing. It was like the crying was actually being pulled in and out of me by something. I was distressed because of the sudden change in landscape, because the change had been so violent, because I was alone, and because I am terribly in love with trees. Those were the immediate problems.

But it was after the storm, after the tree service had been called, after all was safe and settled that I found myself more upset. As I stood looking at my now horizontal tree I saw the effects of disease. All along, the tree had been doomed, and I didn't know it. The tree must have been hollowed for a long time. Sure I knew there was a cute little hollow at the bottom of it that the dogs would stick their noses in from time to time. But I had no idea that the tree was weak. No idea that what was left of the substance of that tree looked like a dirty sponge underneath that bark.

I was reminded of that tree a few days ago when I was made aware of some weaknesses of my own that for some reason I hadn't recognized. I cried in a similar way to my crying during the storm. But it is only today that I'm realizing that once again I was fortunate. Unlike the tree, I don't think I've become totally hollowed. I am now aware of some problems and have the ability to try and work on some of them. I have the opportunity to intervene before they weaken me more and increase the chances of a fall if my rain unexpectedly gets horizontal one day.