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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required We have tree traditions, still accessible in diverse backward and forward reforesting cultures, of planting a commemorative tree when a great and portentous series of loving events comes to its untimely rest. Recently my middle son's lifetime friend decided it was time to travel with the starlight and so he left us heartbroken, trying to be happy for him, and sad without him, to become OK with his decision that he had uncovered enough sadness despair depression. His final vote was cast and no one else was invited to participate in his great transitional selection. So, my son and I will go into our messy forest also known as the back lot, where former residents have dumped asphalt roofing shingles, and buried an entire breaking down garage. If we were to dig deeper than necessary we would probably find other mislaid treasures. Shattered glass bottles and hearts and open rusted food and toxic feeling cans, and plastic of all dismembering colors and ugly unshapely shards of angst, but this day we will dig only as deep as we must. We will first visit a handful of oak babies sprouting up under bushes in the side yard and among poison ivy on the north side so my son can choose which of these will become Greg's oak tree of new life not beyond yet still after suicidal death. We will prepare this sapling's new home, digging a deep and wide welcoming hole among back lot brambles of our thoughts and feelings, then clear away potential choking vines and voices now covering a clearing surrounding trees have left just right enough for a growing Greg Large shade tree to hug my son's grandchildren, and their Greg the OakTree loving children. Then we will uproot our chosen new life tree with reverence and baptize her future MotherTree roots of sacred fertility, and as we sprinkle holy compost to shade her vulnerable transparency to shaded light, we will sing our allegiance to gratitude for each life created through Father Sun, nourished with Mother Earth, sadly smiled with sacred GrandMother Moon, sprinkling sounds of thanks for each day of each life this oak tree, as Greg, will continue bringing us. We will read and look and listen as Jesus taught it is ungrateful sacrilege to remain angry about not having received more grace than we could have earned with more generosity of time, when we could choose instead to give thanks for each day shared with us doing the best we can, to give care as we would continue to receive. Our love for Greg grows through this oak tree's future shade, and west wind protection for all our future days of thanksgiving and suffering lost loss, security for our children's healthy and happier children knowing remembering feeling sensing this canopy grown Greg still choosing flight with starlight nights.
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