Requiem for an Oak

Over forty years ago my dad planted a pin oak sapling, along with its twin, in the backyard of our family's home.  At the time, I doubt he could have imagined how large those saplings would grow in his and mom's lifetime.  When the trees were planted, my brother and I were still living at home, our older brother was married, with one daughter.

As I grew and matured, so did the trees, anchoring their roots deep within the earth and their branches spread upwards toward the heavens.  Days became months, months turned into years, and the trees continued to grow.  They provided a home for countless numbers of birds and squirrels, while shading doghouses, our house, and eventually several of our neighbors' houses.  Each fall they dropped thousands of leaves needing to be raked, bagged, or mulched...the downside of the shade they provided. 

My brother and I moved out and moved on with our lives, and five more grandchildren followed the first.  I watched my parents progress from middle-age to old age.  While their bodies grew frail and bent, the oak trees, still in their prime, stood straight, proud and strong.  They thrived during times of  gentle rain, torrential downpours, and long periods of drought.  Their limbs were intertwined to withstand the wind, sleet, and snow of many winters.  

On a September night in 1989, while Mom was confined to bed with broken vertebrae in her lower back, she prayed and sang hymns to God in the midst of Hurricane Hugo.  She asked Him to protect her and Dad and to keep those trees from crashing into their home.  God was faithful, because the trees survived with barely a lost limb.  Hurricane Hugo made a direct hit on our city, and hundreds of trees were lost...but not the two in their backyard.

The grandchildren grew up...great-grandchildren were born.  In 2005, after an eight year decline with Alzheimer's, Mom went to heaven to be with her Lord.  Dad, missing her more each day, followed her less than a year and a half later.  A few weeks ago, and just one week before the fifth anniversary of Daddy's death, we received a phone call from their former next door neighbor.  One of the oak trees, now over six feet in diameter, without a sign of disease and no storm in sight, split apart--down to its roots.  Apparently, the time had come for the tree to follow the man who planted it.  Although it's sad to see a pile of mulch where the huge oak stood, I also realize the cyle of life goes on...in people and in nature.  The oak's remains will warm homes and people this winter; its mulch protecting tender shrubs, tulip, crocus, and daffodil bulbs over winter--until they can burst forth with new life...in spring. 

 
Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney