A few friends sent me this little Japanese Maple tree in memory of my husband. It came in a long cardboard box, wrapped up in cellophane. How it lived through that journey, I have no idea, but I’m glad. I understand that if it survives my care, it will grow to 15 feet and its leaves will turn a beautiful burnt orange and red during its season.
I finally went out today and bought the perfect pot, and a sack of dirt and planted it. It adorns the front porch, in a semi-shady place, and I’m hoping that’s where it wants to be. It’s name is Wally in memory of my husband and I toasted it with a bottle of water — some for me, some for Wally, some for me, some for Wally. Hope no one was watching!
As I filled the pot with soil, gently patting around the base of the little tree, sweat trickled down my face. I reached up to swipe the moisture away, and the tears started to fall. That’s how it’s been of late. The tears come and go at the weirdest times. You can’t plan for them. I no longer try to stop them. I just let them come, and I breathe and let the sadness flow with them. Before you know it, the moment has passed and you’re “good to go again”.
But before the moment passed entirely, I thought of my friends. Their support and friendship during these last few months has been nothing short of awesome. Telephone “check-up” calls, a walk in the early morning hours and a cup of coffee, an impromptu glass of wine and some laughs, a wave from a neighbor, macaroni and cheese, lemon bars, and lasagne, healthy salads, and not-so-healthy brownies, cards and emails to read over and over again. I am very, very lucky to have so many good friends. I thank God for them.