It was just like today. It was Spring - sunny, but still a bit breezy. Mom brought you outside. I knew exactly what she was going to do, so I went with her.
We talked about those fantastic peaches we used to get off our old peach tree. How juicy they were, how delicious, and how numerous. We couldn't believe such a fruitful tree could be destroyed by an overgrowth of Lamb's Ear! We had the damn tree for so long, even dad got to enjoy the peaches when he was alive.
We sat there over a pot of soil, just like we used to do when I was a child. It was a beautiful moment. We prayed together over the soil as we dropped in the last remaining seeds from the fruit of that tree that she had secretly been saving. As we placed the soil, so carefully, over each one of you with our blessings and all our hopes to share in your fruit once again I had a morose realization - Mom didn't believe she would ever have one of your peaches.
Do you remember what happened next?
She thanked me for helping her, she gave me a kiss and, weakly, rose to her feet to go back inside. Then we were alone - you and I. I bent back down, real close and I told you, "Prove her wrong!" (I told God, too, but He is not a part of today's conversation). And then I asked you for something much simpler, "Just give her hope... just sprout for her."
Does any of this sound familiar to you?
I'm asking because it seems my requests fell on deaf ears. Not only did all five of you lay dormant throughout her suffering, but you continued to lie lifeless in the ground when I needed hope in the days, weeks, months and years after Mom died. As if it was not enough to go to the cemetery to visit both my parents in the ground, I then had to have my heart broken again each time I would squint into that pot, remember that day and see that there lay death as well.
For a long time I was angry with you. You, too, abandoned me and my family. But lately I had stopped thinking of you all together. Of course, as this is the unpredictable play of life, it was today, when you were far from my thoughts, that I found you.
I forgive you.
|Your turn to watch ME grow.|
No matter how delicious your fruit might have been, I understand now, that, to me, they would forever taste bittersweet (I imagine you knew that already).
Your presence in the pot, for much longer than it should have, gave me hope.
Perhaps most importantly:
Your lack of growth shall never steal the times or memories I gardened with my mother, shared fruit with my family or laughed under a tree. But planting you that day with Mom did remind me how important each of those little things are.
This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt. This week's prompt is about forgiveness.