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Monday, May 24, 2010



I hadn't thought through the grief aspect of your beautiful trees. I enjoyed reading this, Amy. I'm sorry for your loss. They will still be beautiful, however altered they may be.


What a powerful metaphor for experiencing the death of a loved one, and settling their worldly affairs after their departure.


I didn't realize yesterday which tree it was! I thought it was your already damaged one from last year; oh, I am doubly sad that it was your sycamores. It is because of your sycamores that I planted one (that is still a stick and no longer owned by me, but I love it still!)

I am sorry. I hope your trees will be okay.


Again? Oh no. I know the snow yesterday caused a lot of upheaval. I love how you expressed your feelings about trees. With your mention of them seeming like your children, I couldn't help but compare your heartache to that of parents who see their children suffer due to some heavy burden. Really beautiful thoughts, Amy.


I know how you feel, girlfriend. My little 3-year-old Linden whom I have loved like you love your trees (I talk to and lovingly pat mine too, by the way) lost a limb in yesterday's horrible surprise-snow. When I got home from work it was 3/4 detached from the main trunk but 1/4 was still hanging on. I couldn't bear to let it go -- I put a small metal bar against the limb and taped the branch back into place using packing tape. I know I'll have to accept it and cut the branch off, but I just can't ... yet. I'm so sorry you lost branches from several of your trees. It's heart-breaking!


Amy - this post ... the date ... the evocative prose ... oh my! May 24th was my 45th birthday. I didn't spend it celebrating in the usual way. I spent it at a memorial service for my husband's younger brother, who had taken his own life the previous Thursday morning.

There was a time when my brother-in-law was like a beautiful tree that flourished and blossomed despite harsh, cold, damaging snows. Like your sycamore, we had watched him taken down.

He began drinking at the age of 12. A notebook my husband discovered in his room (after death), outlined the chronology of his struggle. There were only 10 sober years, between ages 21-31. He lost a pastor position, two marriages and eventually his life to the demons he could not shake off.

I am sorry for your loss. I am sorry for my husband's loss. I am thankful for your words that bind these two losses together for me.

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