Dear Jon,
It may seem
with time, that we begin
to forget, that we let the mind numb a little,
that new seasons blow in unrooted
to seasons that have passed.
But that is only seeming.
What we are really doing is
taking you slowly, piece by piece,
into ourselves; your pain is moving
into our bones; your smile is becoming
the way we walk; your song
becoming the way we read a book;
your stride is becoming
the way we feel about living.
Everything you are is finding its way
into the face and the body we turn to others.
You know all this without trying,
but it comes hard to us, who are only living.
And so we plant this tree in one of the places
where you were alive, because
we need to tell ourselves what you already know.
This tree too will take you up
from the traffic of this field
into its roots and into its branches and leaves,
and become a comfort to us,
and to everyone who comes here,
because it will keep saying and keep saying
the thing you believe:
that death and life
can only grow together.
Sidney Hall Jr.
Written in memory of Jonathan, for the fifth grade tree planting.
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