The massive maple trees growing next to my house were finally cut down this past week, and I cried. I expected to be a little sad, but I didn't expect to feel borderline heartbroken over the loss of them. The knot in my stomach didn't let up the entire day as I knew the trees were on their way down, and I wished it didn't have to be that way. When I pulled into my driveway after work and saw the open space where they used to stand, I lost it. I walked around the stumps and logs, hot tears staining my face, as I apologized to them out loud. Not only did I feel overwhelming guilt for taking down trees that had stood there for so many years, but I was taken aback at how much I disliked the way everything looked without them there. The entire backside of my house was bare and exposed, all that remained was open air and tree shrapnel littering the ground.

It took me a few days to accept that I couldn't change what had already been done, and that the trees had to come down; they were too close to the house and one was showing signs of illness. This was the responsible thing to do, but I hated to do it. Once I moved on from the initial shock and could look at the space as it was, instead of as I wished it still were, I tried to find the more positive aspects of this change: the view of the mountains is no longer obstructed from that side of the house. The yard will gain about a couple hundred square feet, once the grass comes in, giving me a whole new outdoor space to use and eventually enjoy. For a moment, I pictured putting up a fence off that side of the house for the dogs to enjoy, or maybe even planting a small garden, since the sun will find its way to that side of the house now.

I realize that my reaction to the trees coming down was a bit over-the-top, but truth be told, it's very on-brand for me; I have a hard time with big changes like that, especially when I don't know what comes next. Panic sets in when I don't know how to proceed, which is all I felt once the trees came down. Instead of excitement over the possibilities, I felt dread over being trapped in the state of before and after. I just kept asking myself, "Now what?" and spiraling when I couldn't find an answer.

Luckily, my best friend is a home design guru and a master DIYer, so within minutes of me sending her pictures of what I thought was a mess, she excitedly sent back three different ideas of what we could do to make it look better and be more functional. She thinks we can finish this before wintertime, but I'm not so sure; given my emotional history with this project, I may need some recovery time before any more major changes take place.

Paige O. Roberts has a degree in Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Henniker Review, Sidereal Magazine, Rejection Letters, and Cypress. She has been nominated for a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize. She lives in northern New Hampshire where she owns and operates a pet boutique called Tailswag.