It is done. She is buried. In a big old tree. In a snow covered field. Surrounded by bunnies and moles. And I have cried. And the big old tree has held me. Suggested where I sit on his big old root structure in order to see the view I have buried her in.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Tree," he replies.
"Thank you Tree."
I know I will return here many times throughout my life. Not only because it is her burial place, but because of the kindness and quiet contemplation space that Tree offers.
She will be warm now.
---
I return and smoke three cigarettes straight off.
I have laid her pebble in her garden of spring bulbs.
I have lit her candle in my bedroom window.
It is done.
---
I am going to see Granny this evening.
I went to see her before the termination and was struck by the fact that four generations of what turned out to be women were in the same room.
This time there will be only three.
I'm not sure how I feel about that.
It is simply truth.
I want another cigarette.
I am going to have to watch that this pull does not succeed past today.
Tree I have found out is an ash.
But I'm not sure I don't prefer Tree's answer when I asked him.
"What kind of tree are you Tree?"
"Big old tree," he replied.
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