My Year Under the Memory Tree: Summer

Towards the end of May, I posted about my inaugural a trek through a favourite park carrying a folding step stool, a bag of ribbons, and a crystal that resulted in a memorial ceremony marking the thirty-ninth anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s death. My destination was a beautiful Linden tree I met earlier in the pandemic when she was decorated with a circle of white floral wreaths adorned with ribbons embossed in golden words like ‘brother’, ‘uncle’, and ‘son’. The day my grandfather died was my first ‘close up’ experience with death and, for that reason, chose to begin a yearlong ceremonial practice that will end forty years after his last breath.

It is easy for us to become intimidated or overwhelmed at the thought of a memorial, ritual, or ceremony to honour someone important to us. We want our efforts to have deep meaning and believe that can only be accomplished by an elaborate plan with a large guest list, impressive menu options, and a beautiful venue. However, if we think back on our favourite experiences with those who have died, they are often the most seemingly insignificant moments – a really good laugh, they way they hugged when leaving, an unexpected phone call just to say ‘hi’. Why then, do we convince ourselves they want or need a grand gesture to show them how we feel about them?

Since that day in late May, I have returned to the tree and repeated the ceremony at least once per month to honour family members or loved ones of friends, always followed up by a photo of the ribbon sent digitally and images of the poems read. It is quite astonishing how much impact such a simple act can have. It is teaching me that meaning is found in the intent, when it is genuine, not in grand gesture.

When a family friend shed her physical form and her celebration of life began in another city, I visited that dear tree friend and memory keeper. I called my parents and, while connected by the marvels of technology, tied for her a silver ribbon, read some poetry to soothe our grief, and slowly walked home hoping she - as she slid along the ether - would see that she was loved.