Why I’m sad about the Major Oak dying – and what it teaches me about loss.
I woke up to the news this morning that the Major Oak in Sherwood Forrest, Nottinghamshire has died- it’s the first year there has been no leaves on the tree in spring. Living, working and counselling in Worksop, I have always felt an affinity to Sherwood Forest and the Robin Hood story.
I felt a wave of emotion hearing the news, quickly gulped it down and got on with my morning.
Then it popped into my head when I was in the shower (this is where I do my best thinking). I began wondering why I was so upset. It felt familiar to me – I remember crying when the Sycamore Gap tree was vandalised – it had been a dream of mine to visit that tree and now that dream was taken away. Growing up I had been obsessed with the Robin Hood story. I watched Robin Hood Prince of Thieves on repeat so many times I knew all the words. That film was an escape for me for a while. I would have loved to visit that iconic tree.
As humans, we all know on some level that things end – but we often shy away from this feeling – it’s too raw and painful and feels risky.
However, this morning I decided to lean into my sadness about the tree. I talked with my husband and kids about it and how I understood that things die, but that it still makes me really sad.
And that’s OK.
I do a lot of work with loss and often the first step to improvement is realising that it’s OK to be really sad. In my clients and myself, I have found that then, there is a period of allowing. Through experience, I have found that the allowing can be gentler if supported by someone who has the capacity to be with you when you’re feeling this. It might be a loved one, a family member, a friend or even a counsellor or health worker.
Some people will dismiss your feelings and say, ‘it’s just a tree’, ‘we can plant a new one’, or start to try to apportion blame – climate change or the volume of visitors to the site. Both these things deflect from the actual feeling – the sadness and the loss.
It is true that saplings are growing from the Major Oak, and I think there are saplings from the Sycamore Gap tree too. This is great, and it does go some way to make me feel more hopeful, but I am also experienced enough to know myself: I am not ready for that yet, I need to allow room for my sadness, feel my grief and let that sit for a bit before I’m ready to move on.
One of the big lessons I’ve learnt working with clients is that often the harder we want something, the more we try. However, this often leads to the thing we want only becoming more elusive. By allowing what is, and taking the time to feel what you feel, a space is created where you can then begin to piece things together – rebuild and move on.
If you’ve enjoyed reading my blog and would like to work one to one – please get in touch.
Take care
Sarah
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