The Oak

Sitting on my front porch steps this morning with coffee cup in hand, I feel the sun beaming on my shoulders as I look over the wooden round rising out of the grass. For years I held a mug or a glass of wine as I’d slip out onto these steps, as kids settled down, sneaking a conversation with you-- moonlight and leafy shadows against my face.

When I moved into my home 18 years ago, my beautiful oak looked regal to me. But my neighbor walked over, introduced himself, and pointed at the tree “you need to take the trees down. He is not well”. But my tree seemed strong and willful. So I willfully watched my tree through the years.

With hurricane winds he stood straight and strong. With ice storms he braced against the weather, dangling stunning, icy jewels from his branches, saying to me “these are yours” and I was smitten. 

Once a tornado crashed through our street pushing down tree after tree. Mine, however, fought the winds--standing tall amidst the others’ broken, downed branches. The neighbors deemed him Old Faithful.

Every spring I would watch vivid green sprouting from my tree. I’d notice curious squirrels scrambling through halls and splendid cardinals landing upon sills. Yet every year I softly noticed another naked branch standing still.

One year I spoke with an arborist who said the oak was safe if pruned but that it might be smarter to take him down. But I decided to just cut the branches. I wasn’t ready for more. My tree looked a bit bare but he’d still have coffee with me in the mornings and offer tranquil shade.

Over time the branches stopped bearing green and would fall with the rain. My children could no longer play beneath the leaves--the limbs were dangerous for those walking beneath. So I chose to say goodbye to my friend.

This morning I stare at what is left--the stump of my oak. Still beautiful to me with his artful rings of time, love, and  I struggle to remove the last bit of him.

A child walks in front of my home and leaps onto my tree. I call out “please play on it, it will be gone soon”. And the boy grins, gleefully hopping up and down from the wood to the grass and I watch—happy and sad with my beautiful memories of leaves, play, even shadows. And I know it is time to let the grass grow again where the hole will be.

I had 18 years of my tree. I loved this oak with roots deep and strong, seeing the good, committing to what was beautiful and true until the risk outweighed the good.

Understand, this is how I loved you too.

If I could just go back

My sweet, beautiful boy. The swim meet crowd bellows in the background. I watch you on the small platform poised to fly into the water--you hear nothing but the sound of the horn--focused, strong and precise-- you hit the water like an arrow until you surface above the blue.

As a toddler you would pretend to hear nothing as I frantically chased and yelled after you racing toward the water. I knew the potential dangers of backyard ponds, grandparents' pools, even bathtubs--but you, my fearless tadpole, would wriggle free of arms and even watchful eyes. You belonged to the water and it to you.

We enrolled you in the emergency swim classes. You hated being thrashed around in the water this way--pushed and pulled under by your teacher. He tried to give you a healthy fear of the water but once the sessions were over, you simply kicked through the water with a grace that left others wide-eyed.

The tub, the pools, and then the ocean...I could barely keep you from the sea. It called to you over and over...over my voice warning "Joshua, stay here!" If I could just go back to that first moment, that first trip to the beach, and watch you dip your tiny toes into the sea foam, the delight you must have had.

But I don't remember.

I remember your glorious fiery hair and your brilliant blue eyes and your laughter and the smell of your skin. But I missed that moment among the laundry, the packing and unpacking, the doctors' appointments, bills, school, homework, discipline, fighting and the slow distance that grows between a growing boy and his mother.

So I watch you now. And I cheer for you. I see you in the water. And I will remember it all.