Tree hunt reveals important lesson

By John Bach

Julie, the girls, Logan and Frankie at the tree farm

I could see panic in Julie’s eyes as we traversed across Corsi’s Tree Farm. We were struggling to find a good Christmas tree, her energy was fading fast, and we were a good 20-minute jaunt from the car. 

We’ve been hiking these hills every year since the girls were small enough to carry. But everything had changed since Julie’s diagnosis. After four straight months of chemical infusions in an attempt to shrink the tumor in Julie’s breast, she received a rare reprieve — a Friday off with no chemo treatment.

We had already been lucky enough to gather around a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner with our girls on Thursday, but she really wanted to be able to get a tree together, too. I questioned if she was up to it. After all, this week presented some of her worst deep-down bone pain yet, along with a touch of neuropathy in her toes, troubling restlessness at night and exhaustion through the day. “I think I’ll be OK,” she assured.

Though cold, the weather looked like it would cooperate for a good Black Friday tree hunt, so we set out on our annual mission. Few things can stand between a mom and her holiday traditions, but after an hour of looking, weariness was setting in. This was a clarifying moment. Once again it became evident how much of a toll this disease — and the treatment of it — is having on my wife. As much as she may have wanted to push through the pain, determination only takes you so far. Sometimes your body isn’t having it.

Despite our society’s addiction to the hero narrative, pink warrior campaigns and “fight like a girl” breast cancer slogans, the reality is that too many women are losing their personal war. It isn’t because they didn’t have their mind in the right place or because they didn’t own enough masculine metaphor T-shirts. Sometimes, no amount of “stay positive” gets you up the hill.

Julie and I at Corsi Tree Farm

Instead of pressing forward, we called a timeout and spread the tree tarp out on the ground in a sunny spot beneath the massive pines where we sat to rest. I snapped the photo above with Julie at that moment. I didn’t realize how much the sun was bathing her in radiant light until swiping through photos later.

After a short rest and another 15 minutes of searching, we did finally find a tree worthy of our living room, but this year the best memory won’t be the “timber” moment when the whole family cheered. Heck, Greta and Julie were already on their way back to the car when our tree fell.

This year, the most memorable moments may be when we acknowledge the need to rest.