Big Green Tree (Stan Ridgway)

A few months after Eric died (9/26/23), I reached out to The City of Pembroke Pines, inquiring about having a bench installed in his memory in a park in the neighborhood we lived almost 30 years;  they don't do that, they responded, but... they were on the cusp of making official a tree planting program, and would I please follow up in 2024?

I dropped the ball, for quite a while I confess... and reached back out only a few months before the one-year mark of Eric's passing, absolutely sure I had missed all the deadlines for whatever needed to be done.  Sweet Carol, who I had spoken to the first time around, took loving pity on me and expedited the sh*t out of the what-would-have-been-eight-weeks-and-actually-took-only-six-weeks process.  Tree planted, plaque installed, boom... 💥

We had six options, and the Japanese Fern Tree appealed to us immediately, the main reason being that it provided shade; it was also substantially bigger than we expected (probably also thanks to Carol).  It was just one more way to honor Eric, and we gathered together at the above-mentioned park yesterday for a tree dedication; I envisioned sweet, casual, fun, yummy food, socializing, brief speech, live music, rock painting (lather, rinse, repeat)... and great weather (which had been looking quite dour on WeatherBug the evening before).

It was a most perfect day, we had a lovely turn-out, and Eric would have been... is... proud... 💖

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, everyone!  

We are obviously here because we loved Eric, and he loved us.  Or maybe some of you didn't know Eric (that's okay), and you love one of us (his family members, or his friends).  It really is all about love anyway, right?

I promised a *brief* tree dedication and, my god, I mean it.  There will be a poem, a few words, and another poem.  Voila!

After that, if anyone wants to stay in the circle and share a memory, you are welcome to do that.  If you want to step outside the circle and throw a Frisbee, that's perfectly fine too.

Light and Dark by James Crews

Half-awake, I lose myself in a pool

of late morning sun and leaf-shadows

flashing on the floor outside my bedroom,

what the Japanese call komorebi—light

and dark held in the same container

of a single moment, as we hold them in us,

learning to love equally a burst of joy

welling up like wind in the crowns of trees

and a sorrow that still weighs us down

like stones in the shoes, like swallowed clay.

Today, I stand here at the edge of both,

knowing that if I want to walk in the light

I’ll have to dance with the shadows too. 

It is planned, yet synchronistic, that today is a year minus one day, from Eric's Celebration of Life; yes, there was much love in that room but, since it was only two weeks after his death, we were all immersed in serious grief and its non-linear stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. 

I have found a home in Acceptance now.  I know my son is gone from this earthly plane, and he is not coming back.

However, I have fully embraced Gratitude.  We have, and continue to, honor our boy in so many different ways: ashes spread everywhere from Alaska to California to Finland to Key West to Mexico to New Mexico to South Carolina... gathering monthly for E's Breakfast Club (we welcome your presence!)... Memory Bears... owls (so many owls!)... a brick at the Cooper City Optimist Clubhouse... and this beautiful tree and plaque via the City of Pembroke Pines.

If you recall, I said a year ago that "as long as we remember him, he lives".  Eric is here now, and he is in our hearts, and he is around us every minute of every day.  And I thank all of you for that.  You love him as much as we do.  And, because of that, we are endlessly woven together in a Community of Love, and we all benefit.  Keep loving him, keep loving each other, pay it forward... 💗

Ray Bradbury wrote:

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said.

A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. 

Or a garden planted.

Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, 

and when people look at that tree 

or that flower you planted, you're there.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something 

from the way it was before you touched it 

into something that's like you 

after you take your hands away.

The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. 

The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all;

the gardener will be there a lifetime.

[Let's have our Kumbaya moment, shall we?  Please take a deep breath, hold hands and squeeze tightly...]

Thanks for being here today.  We love you all.  Any memories you wish to share?" (and there were, and we laughed as well as cried... 😂😭)

SONG:  Big Green Tree by Stan Ridgway

BOOK:  Whispers of The Healing Tree: A Journey Through Grief and Gratitude for Families by Brandi Towner

POEM(S):  see above

QUOTE:  “Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water... and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.” ~ Brian Jacques