The Tree

As my husband and I sat in the sunroom admiring the tree in the backyard we planted together in Kirsten’s memory I had a horrible thought…what if, after all of our hard work and care, the tree died? Would it be a sign that I was, in fact, as much of a failure as I felt as the parent of a child who, despite all of my hard work and care, has died?               

Two members of one of my tennis teams had purchased and delivered the tree a couple of weeks earlier. It was a pink cherry tree, symbol of the beautiful but fleeting nature of life, but looked, at this point, like tall twigs with a burlap sack at one end. We could have hired someone to plant it for us but this was special, it was for Kirsten, so we decided to plant it ourselves.

It was the first time we had planted a tree together and we wanted to do it just right. We went to the store to buy soil, mulch and shovels. We then surveyed the yard from every angle to decide on just the right spot. We decided on a spot visible from the pool area and the house and almost in a direct line from Kirsten’s bedroom window. Next came the hard work. We dug the hole, taking turns with the pick-ax and the shovels, until it was the depth specified in the directions on the tag attached to one of the naked limbs. We added the soil, carefully selected to improve the condition of the earth surrounding the new root ball, then refilled the hole and topped it with mulch to protect it, smoothing it lovingly. We had it staked to support it against strong winds and watered it daily.

But what if, in our inexperience, we had done something wrong and it didn’t make it? Overlooked some detail and now wouldn’t get to watch it mature and fulfill it’s purpose?

I tried to reason with myself that trees died sometimes no matter how carefully they were planted and cared for, that some things were out of our control. We had given it all the love and support we could to ensure its growth and give it its best chance at survival. Maybe we had done the best we could and the rest wasn’t up to us. If it dies I will try not to blame myself.

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.

                                                                                          ~John Muir