The Tree

“Mama, look!” She squealed with excitement as she finished filling the hole around the small tree with soil.

Her mother smiled and bent down beside her, patting the soil down smoothly. Her three-year-old daughter giggled excitedly over the small life now growing in their front yard.

“It’s so small, Mama!” she giggled, “It looks like a stick!”

Her mother smiled, “Yes, it does look like a stick right now, but it’s going to grow into a big tree over the years. One day it’ll be as big as all the other trees.”

“Should I name it, Mama?”

Her mother laughed, “If you want to.”

“Okay! I think I’ll name it… Briar!”

Her mother laughed and shook her head, “That’s an… interesting name for a tree.”

“I think it’s fitting.” She looked at the tree and smiled.

Years later, when she was far past being the three-year-old she was when she planted he tree, she went out into the front yard while it snowed, thinking about her years as a mere child when she planted the tree and her progression into the teenage years she’s going through. The tree had grown over the past thirteen years—it was taller than her and its trunk was thicker than her arm.

She touched the trunk with her gloved hand, running her fingers down the trunk. Snow scarcely got in her hair, for the leaves over her head shielded her from the flakes that fell at a steady pace.

She softly whispered to Briar, telling it stories of happy and unhappy times from the past months. Briar had over the years become a sort of place of peace for her—a place where she could unveil her soul and be completely herself. She confided in her tree as if it were a close friend—because Briar was her friend. She could tell anything to Briar—things that other people wouldn’t understand.

She felt safe when it was just her and her tree.

Decades later after her mother passed away due to illness, she visited her father and went out to her tree. She was married now and had two lovely children to take care of.

It was the middle of spring now and she gently touched her tree. Briar had grown significantly since she first planted it. It had grown from being the size of a stick to a full grown tree—the trunk larger around than her hips.

Her mother was right: it did grow to be as big as all the other trees.

She smiled at the memory of her mother.

“I miss her, Briar.” she whispered to the tree as she stood before it, tears welling up in her eyes as memories of her mother flashed in and out of her mind.

Years and years later she fell ill… and so did her tree.

She struggled to get to her feet and go out to see her tree.

She held herself up by leaning with one hand against the tree. She looked up at its drooping branches and fading leaves. She let tears slowly stream down her cheeks as she recalled every moment she spent with her tree. She recalled every story she told her tree and every secret that lay enclosed deep within the layers of bark.

But the moment that stuck out most in her mind was the moment that she planted Briar.

“Look, Mom,” she spoke softly around the tears, “Briar… Briar is dying… and so am I…” She looked down as the tears began to flow out heavier and harder. “I miss you, Mom… and soon I’ll see you again. Soon Briar and I will be back with you—all three of us together again.”