This Tree.



When I was pregnant with TinyE, I would go out on our deck at the end of the day, sit in a chair and look up into the tree. As the light faded, I watched the patterns of the branches and leaves against the sky, and I wondered about how our lives were about to change.

When TinyE was about 3 months old, I was back at work and my Dad had just died. I'd venture onto the deck in the evenings again, and watch the tree. The peaceful sounds of the creaks and squeaks, the soft swaying of the highest limbs, was like a window into another world; the place where my Dad's spirit had gone. Being underneath those branches in the evening was comforting.

- - - - - - - - - -

August 13, evening. The toppled portion of the tree had been cleared away. The other half, still standing, sentenced to its death the following day. Dave wasn't back yet, but the two girls were home with me.

I didn't want to be alone as I said my final farewell to the tree, so I carried TinyE out on the deck and we sat there together. The light was fading rapidly, it was too late to get a clear picture of the branches that drifted above us. But it was comforting; being there, holding my daughter on my lap, and telling her about the tree and how lucky we had been to have it in our yard.



The branches of this tree shaded our house through every season of the year. Our back yard was so protected, there was always a shady spot for TinyE to play—no matter how bright the sun, no matter what time of day. And in some rain storms, we could walk around portions of the yard without ever feeling a drop.

I was blubbery over the tree. I don't care, I'll admit it. Because in many ways, the tree reminded me of my Dad.

He was gone from our lives too soon, and it had happened right after I went back to work. He never had the chance to meet TinyE, and he was gone too soon to ever meet BabyS. But he would have adored them both.

The tree fell in our yard, and that was something we would have talked about.

So maybe it was my Dad there with us, who put the thought into my head: "Losing the tree is sad, but one of the most precious things you have is on your lap right now."

And even though I was crying, I felt better. And grateful. And lucky.

And so we said goodbye to the tree. And I pointed to the branches that danced in the night sky. And TinyE whispered, "Yeah" to everything I said.

And then we went back inside; I put TinyE to bed, and I went to hold her sister.