The Tree of Love
Lindsay Gietter

She had always been there, my grandmother, my motherís mother. The eyes of warmth, the heart of love--the woman with whom I could share my deepest desire or say nothing. My protector away from my motherís arms. A woman of wisdom like a wise old owl flying above the treetops of a forest. She had always been there. Yet as I awoke, the feeling of loss and confusion was spinning around me like a hurricane filled with sorrow. It had happened so fast. I thought she would never leave, yet the childhood dreams that I once so deeply believed in had vanished. The air dripped with sadness.

My grandmother and I had bonded like a tree with its roots intertwining into the ground. I was a part of her and she was a part of me. We shared the same blood that had been passed through three generations of women. I had never seen death before in my 19 years. I knew it would come, but it hit so fast that I was unprepared for the fire that raged inside of me. I was unprepared for the guilt that swallowed me up like a swift current in a river. I was not by her side the day her light had gone out. I was the one still standing and looking at the remains of my sanctuary, my comfort which was destroyed in an instant. The tree was still standing yet the roots had withered away. Her death and my sorrow reminded me of a forest fire ravaging the old yet giving life to the new.

I stand in the forest, Godís canvas of life and beauty, which stands tall in a sea of stillness and peace. A place where you see the combinations of old giving and protecting the new life that springs forth. I see the breath of God all around me as the colors of the forest wrap me in their arms and take me to a far off place. Yet in an instant, the peace surrounding me, that I have grown accustomed to and take for granted, is gone. It came in an instant. A spark of light that ignited the sky like a light bulb exploding above my head. Orange, yellow, red--dancing like a celebration of power, which surrounded the wise tree that towered above all life. The confusion of smoke bellowing from the place I once loved. The whispering sound of the flames caused my mind to scream for the dead. It was over in an instant and all that remained were the youth of the forest grasping for air and closure from the scene experienced. All that remained of the old were branches and wisdom so that that the young could absorb their life and pass on the knowledge to the next generation of Godís canvas of color.

I think back to the summer of 1997, my eyes filled with tears, remembering how my innocent world changed. Smiling, I gaze at a photograph of the woman standing beside me, enjoying another accomplishment in my life. Her children, her grandchildrenóthat is what made the blood in her heart and mind thrive and what made her smile glow like the sun rising over the ocean on a clear, windless morning. The memories and laughter that were left after her death remain in the youth of her blood. Like the aftermath of a forest fire, the wise old trees left their sap of knowledge for the saplings to grow into the beauty they once were. I smile knowing that what I have learned from death, the legacy and knowledge that I possess, will be passed on to my children and through the blood of generations to come. The blood of life that flowed through my grandmotherís heart is in me, and her memory and beauty will live and grow like a newborn tree. A forest never dies. It keeps to the cycle of life and begins anew. My grandmotherís life will grow and be kept alive through the memories of her and the life lesson of love she taught me daily.