The Secret Life Of Trees

This story is based on certain events in my life. It was nothing more than a poem in my minds eye in 2009.



My name is Sam , and this is my story.
I never knew my parents.
I only knew them as people I was born to , who raised me and took care of me. Who fed me , and clothed me. Who sent me off to school when I was old enough , and took me to the doctor when I was sick. I knew things about them , but I never really knew them. I never knew them like I should have. I was never close to them like I should have been , like I longed to be.
My mother was a grade school teacher. It was the love of her life. If you got her talking about it , you couldn't shut her up.
Dad worked for an advertising company. He wasn't always enthusiastic about his job. They worked hard to support us. They were both successful and always busy. I guess they never really had time for me. I don't remember ever having a single meaningful conversation with either one of them , while growing up. We were like a family of strangers to each other. I don't remember ever playing catch with dad , or other things boys did with their fathers. Much of the time we would rarely see each other , and even then we barely spoke. Instead , we would smile briefly at each other , as if we were nothing more than strangers passing on a street.
More often than not , he would come home from work , turn on the television , and drink beer while he watched his favorite shows. On the weekends he would watch just about every sport that was televised. During the summer months , when he wasn't watching sports , he liked to go fishing. I only went with him once. It was the only time I had been invited , and I never asked. I was ten at the time , and I remember what a lonely day it was. All he did was drink beer and talk about sports. I wanted him to ask me how I was doing in school. I don't remember him ever asking. At least it would have let me know that he cared. And I wanted him to ask me about my friends. Not that I really had any. Being alone was the norm for me. I was used to it.
I spent that entire day with dad , one of the few that I could remember. But I may as well have been alone. That was how I felt. he wasn't interested in getting to know me. All he seemed to care about , was sports.
I went through my childhood feeling lonely , and ignored. I felt as if no one cared about me. I felt ignored and unloved by my parents most of all. I wanted them to know me. Who I really was. My passions. My dreams. My aspirations in life. And I wanted to know them . I wanted us to be a family. Not a dysfunctional family of strangers that didn't know how to communicate with each other. But a real family , that knew and felt love. That expressed that love in every way they knew how. Were we that kind of family once? I don't know. I don't remember. I would like to think that we were.
When the loneliness became too much to bear , I would visit a secret place known only to me. It was in the woods behind the house. There was a clearing , with a lake in the middle , ringed with trees. I would spend hours at a time there , imagining that the trees had a secret life of their own , and that I was one of them.
I was sixteen when mom passed away. She died of cancer. She ignored the warning signs. I can only guess that she was hoping that it was nothing to worry about. When she did finally see her doctor , it was too late. She died quickly.
I wanted to forget about school , at least for a while , and take care of her until the end , but dad wouldn't let me. He was the one who took time from work to care for her.
The day she died , I held her hand , and cried for a woman I barely knew , but always loved. I silently asked to be forgiven for not being better than I should have been , and that someday , I would find the courage to forgive myself.
After the funeral , I made a plaque in school , with the following words inscribed :

Trees have a secret life of their own ,

they talk to each other ,

they laugh ,

they sing and dance ,

they celebrate the good things in their lives ,

they give praise to the Creator ,

and mourn when one of their own dies.

One day , I placed the plaque at the base of the largest tree , and left it there , hoping that someday someone would find it , someone who was lonely like I was , and would understand the meaning of the words. And the meaning of the words are that life is too short to worry about what others may think of us , or the things we think we need to be happy. All we really need is love , and hope. Love comforts us in times of despair , and hope drives us. It gives us the courage to continue when our lives seem empty. Without hope , there is no reason to live.
We are all born for the same purpose. To help make the lives of others more bearable. They may be lonely , homeless , or mentally ill. They need to know that they are important , that life is worth living. It's the only reason we're here , to help one another , to share the divine connection we have , the source we all come from. It's the responsibility of every human being to help those who cannot help themselves. God may help those who help themselves , but He blesses those who help others. This is the true purpose of our lives.
After mom's death , dad and I never really did become any closer. We talked a few times , mostly about mom , but not the things that should have been talked about. There was no healing , and that left me feeling emptier than I ever had been before.
Dad remarried sometime later , and joined his new wife as a full - time member of the local church.
Three years later , I met my wife , and a year after that , we had our first child , a son. We've since had two more , both girls. The births of my children were the happiest , and proudest moments of my life. I held their tiny bodies in my hands , and promised them that we would never be strangers to each other. That we would always be close. That we could always talk to one another , no matter how wide a rift there might be between us. And to this day , as they are now in their teenage years , we have never been strangers , and never will be.
Dad passed during my thirty - fifth year. It was a heart attack. We flew home for the funeral. We had seen him no more than five or six times in fifteen years , and in all that time , he had barely kept in touch. I guess the two of them were too busy to pick up a phone , or write.
After visiting mom's grave , we visited the clearing behind the house. I had spent so much of my time there , living in my own special world that I created for myself , trying to keep the loneliness away. But , it always came back.
I hadn't been there in sixteen years. It hadn't changed much in all that time. It looked almost as it had the last time I'd seen it.
The plaque was still there , right where I'd left it , leaning against the roots of the largest tree. I'd left it there , hoping that someday someone would find it and discover what the words had meant to me , and what they will always mean. Love is the answer. Love is the meaning of the words. Love of life. Love of family and friends. That loved ones should be cherished. Realizing that life , even with all of it's pain and anguish , is a gift , because when you have love in your life , even if it's the love of just one person , that pain won't last. Love will see you through it. Sing , dance , laugh , love. Be grateful that you are loved. Life is so short. We don't realize just how short it is , until we lose a loved one. If we don't appreciate the loved ones in our lives today , who knows what tomorrow may bring. If you wait for tomorrow to come ,

you may not get another chance to say what should have been said.
Life is worth living. Even with all the crap that weighs us down , and holds us back , our lives still have meaning. You may not believe that when you feel hopeless and alone. Know that you are special , and that you are never alone. You were born for a reason , and that is to bring hope into the lives of those who have lost it , or have never known it. That's where your life has meaning.
There were other words on the plaque , besides my own. In the sixteen years I had been away , someone had etched their own below mine , and the meaning of these words , to me , were clear.
A plea for hope.
I had found my hope , my redemption. My redemption was in the promise that I had made to my children. A promise that would be passed down to my grandchildren. To each new generation. A promise that would never be broken.
With this promise , I had been redeemed , and I had found the courage to forgive myself. I had also shared the responsibility for my loneliness.
Sometimes , when sleep is slow in coming , I remember those lonely words , so full of promise and hope , that someone had etched below my own :

'In forgiveness there is hope. Hope is in the knowledge that I may someday be forgiven. I can only hope that someday , before I die , I will earn that forgiveness , and find my redemption.'

It helps me sleep.


End