Family Willow
As I sit here in my father's office to do my
daily writing exercise, I look out into the front
yard. My eyes find the green and golden leaves of
the willow tree sitting in the middle of the
circular driveway. This is no ordinary tree; it is
a family tree, planted with love and nursed from
its fragile youth into its strong and growing
adolescence. It is a memorial tree, planted during
the early 1990s, when my family experienced loss
after loss.
First was my grandfather, my father's father,
who passed away after a long illness. My other
grandfather was next, followed scarcely a year
later by his wife. Then both of my father's
brothers, my uncles, one drowning in a Caribbean
hurricane, the other dying of alcoholism. Not long
thereafter, my last surviving grandparent, my
father's mother, fell and hit her head, passing
away not long thereafter. With her death, my father
lost the last member of his immediate family,
making a terrible loss all the harder to bear.
At some point during this long period of
tragedy, the willow tree was planted, and some of
the ashes of these dearly departed family members
were interred at the base of the tree. A delicate
weeping willow standing in the midst of hardy oaks
certainly seems out of place. It invites
contemplation and remembrance with its drooping
branches.
As I celebrate this Thanksgiving holiday with
the members of my wonderful family, my thoughts
turn backward to the treasured times I spent with
my grandparents and uncles. They are often missed,
and the willow ensures they are not forgotten.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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