Determined to Thrive

I stare through the frost-covered glass at the blanket covering my young pear tree, whispering a prayer to a deity I’m no longer sure I believe in. The tree has only been in the ground for a few months but I thought I had done the right thing by planting it in the earth, though now I wonder if that was a mistake because it’s firmly rooted out there, trapped in the cold with no way for me to bring it inside.

Have I doomed it to die?

I’ve poured so much of myself into the tree that it now holds a piece of my soul. During the early spring months, I tended to it often, examining its slender branches for any signs of new growth. The summer’s oppressive heat concerned me, but the tree powered through as if undaunted by the threat of drought, nearly doubling in size by the time fall set in. Those cooling months offered us both a break from the scorching sunlight, and all was well until last week. The weatherman on the news channel warned of an uncharacteristically cold winter storm with more snow than our region has seen in decades, but I hadn’t truly understood what that would mean.

This cold seems to seep into my bones, stealing away the heat leftover by the memory of sunburns and skin sweat-slicked after a short walk to the mailbox. Snow falls in great heaps along the fence line, transforming my backyard into a landscape I do not recognize. Even the pond beyond the fence looks frozen solid, and I wonder if the fish in it will survive.

My pear tree cannot die. It can’t.

Its life nurtures mine just as I nurtured it during those early months when the grief hung so heavily that I wasn’t sure how to breathe. Some days I would sit outside with the pear tree to watch it grow. Eventually, I added a small flowerbed around it, creating life with my hands because I felt as if there were nothing left alive inside me. My hollow heart, so fragile and broken, slowly mended as the tree grew and the flowers blossomed. With each newly formed leaf and lovely flower, I felt a small crack within me fuse together, not quite mended but no longer threatening to shatter.

But now my pear tree, the motivation for me to get outside for a few minutes each day, is in danger. Seeing the snow on the flowers doesn’t pain me as deeply because I had expected to replace many of them in the spring, but not the tree. Never the tree. It was supposed to survive until one day it became a towering behemoth that would produce a delicious fruit borne of the hardship it endured to reach maturity.

That dream may not become a reality. Even if no more snow falls overnight, it will be several days before the large piles disappear. A long thaw may injure the young tree, preventing it from sprouting new growth next spring, or possibly even killing it from shock.

It’s a sentiment I understand fully – dying from shock. There were days I thought I might. I still sometimes jump from fright when the phone rings unexpectedly as if someone might be calling to tell me again that a family member has passed away.

My brother should’ve had a pear tree. Maybe if he did, he would’ve had something to cling to when the weight of life became too much to bear, and maybe he would’ve decided the pear tree was enough for him to live for. Maybe the sight of each branch slowly gaining strength would’ve fed his soul with strength as it does mine. But he didn’t have a pear tree, and he decided he didn’t want to live.

“You okay?” The sound of my husband’s voice pulls my mind back to the present, back to the painfully cold house we’re stuck in until the roads clear.

I force a smile as I attempt to sound normal. “I’m fine. Just worried my little garden won’t make it through the cold.”

His expression pinches slightly and I know he sees it, the facade I wear to cover the pain, but he doesn’t confront me about it. With one arm he lifts the blanket up as he pats the couch cushion with his other hand. “Come lay with me under the blanket. I could use the extra body heat.”

My smile turns genuine as I lie down on the couch and scooch back to tuck my body against his. His arm curls around me, hugging me tightly as the blanket covers us both, shielding us from the chilled air.

Tears spill down my cheeks as I squeeze the clippers. The sharp snap of lifeless wood cracks through the air like a gunshot.

I’m not sure if I’m crying for the tree or for myself, because the grief counselor said I need to let some things go that are damaging my relationships with the people I love. But how? How can I possibly let go when some days my mind is so consumed by those thoughts that I feel like I can’t escape?

Weeks have passed since the last threat of freezing weather but my small tree still hasn’t improved. No buds are forming and some of the branches are brittle. Online forums suggested cutting back the dead bits to make way for new growth to come through.

I hope they’re right.

The small bench is heavy enough that I struggled while pulling it from the back of my van. Dragging it across the yard and through the back gate was a fight that will likely leave me sore. It was worth the trouble. The bench fits perfectly beneath the branches of the pear tree, which is now just barely tall enough for me to duck beneath.

While planting my garden this spring, I arranged the flowers in a way that left space for a seating area. I spend enough time outside that I decided it would be nice to have a place to sit without worrying about getting dirt on my clothes.

I reposition the bench until it is exactly as I envisioned and then sit down on it for the first time. Looking up, I see a low branch I’ll have to be wary of when standing but it is an otherwise nice view. This spot will likely remain mine exclusively since the flowers blooming on the tree smell atrocious, but that’s fine with me. I like having the garden to myself.

A sigh of relief escapes me and its as if a bit of weight leaves my chest with the exhaled air. We’ve both survived, the tree and I. Years blurred together as they passed, the tree growing as I unknowingly did the same until I realized one day that it hadn’t only been the tree enduring the long thaw.

My heart had healed slowly until I again saw the beauty of life surrounding me just as the flowers surround the pear tree. I know the grief will always remain in some form but it no longer overwhelms me. I can accept the pain as it is, enduring it like the cold of winter until spring returns to leave me thawed and blossoming.