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Lily Keane (Class of 2028) is pursing a major in Nursing.
I really like trees. I like how they seem to cave in on you and shelter you from everything with their shadow. I like how it feels as though time stops and the only thing in the world is the sound of the swaying branches. I like how even though there might not be another person for miles I don't feel alone. The cave of leaves blocks out the sun and it just feels safe.
I live in Rockaway, New York, a small peninsula on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. Even though we are a small town, being close to a beach limits how many trees we have in our own backyards. In spite of that, my house had a towering, sturdy oak tree in the backyard whose shade provided that same protection and security that I feel in the forest. Even through Hurricane Sandy, a hurricane that wiped out my community, it stood tall, despite a few fallen branches and its worn appearance. It was unbreakable. To me, it proved how invincible the things I loved were.
The only thing that made me feel that same sense of security was my dad. Like a tree in autumn, my dad left a trail of himself wherever he went. Both he and the tree provided me with the safety and security that allowed me to grow without fear — as long as they were there, nothing could cut me down. My dad taught me how to make jokes in tough situations, he created light where there seemed to be complete darkness. My dad had a quickness about him — in his sense of humor and his smarts, which I like to think I got from him. He gave me his heart, one filled with curiosity, appreciation, and love — one that tied us together.
In May of sophomore year, everything changed. The quick-witted, strong, and loving dad that I knew was infiltrated with the swift poison of cancer. Almost simultaneously, the “unbreakable” tree in my backyard was struck down. All the security I’d known was ripped away.
For a while, I didn't know what got me through the death of my dad. Even while my world was shattering before me, it was still rotating around me. It was both clarifying and heartbreaking. The worst possibility had happened but somehow I was still standing. For the first time in my life, I felt a deep-rooted sense of strength. To me, he wasn’t gone. This feeling could have been deemed as shock — but when shock would’ve left my system, this feeling never did. Even now, I feel him in moments where I crumble; knowing he’s beside me gives me strength.
Losing him made me magnify all of the traits he left in me, embracing every aspect of him that I could find. I realized I can handle so much more than I could have ever estimated. I have realized that most challenges aren't as heavy as I thought. I have recognized the importance of being able to put my whole heart into the things I care about. I think that losing him forced me to let down my guard. It forced me to get outside of my comfort zone. I opened up to my community at home and in school. I began to form new friendships and take part in leadership positions that I wouldn’t have before. I started to branch out to new opportunities and experiences, pushing myself to work for what I wanted. The security that he gave me didn't disappear with his physical presence — it was embedded within me.
His role in my life never changed, just my interpretation of it. The tree itself may be gone, but the roots are far beneath the surface.
Photo provided by Lily Keane
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