Trees, Bread, and Apples

Stale Bread

This morning I ate a stale pumpernickel bagel left over from my mother’s Shiva. I have not eaten a bagel in over 20 years. My mother always ate the same thing for breakfast (toast and cheese) and so have I (cereal and fruit).

The metamorphosis has begun to pick up speed with my mother’s passing. When people said “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” I would joke back, “in my situation the apple never even fell off the tree.” Now the tree is gone and the apple lies on the ground detached and rotting. Over the last decade or so my mother’s reply to anyone who asked how she was feeling was “rotten” or “one foot on the grave, the other on a banana peel.” I was almost tempted to place a banana on top of her coffin during the funeral. But she and I would have been the only ones to find it funny so I did not. She may have said those things, but she kept loving life and never wanted to miss a game of Bingo or a chance to play cards. She said a lot of things and at the time that bothered me but I knew better, and I always looked at what she did, how she lived, and tuned out the words. Now I think I should look behind the words. There were hidden meanings and feelings she needed to share but did not know how. That will be the journey I am on now.

I am the apple from Becky’s tree. An apple is the fruit that got Adam and Eve tossed out of the Garden of Eden. My mother’s love was my Garden of Eden and now I have been tossed out left to fend for myself and my children. I took care of Becky but her Love took care of me. It would rise out of her with a strength in her voice, a timber that felt as if all the world would be listening. Whenever I was most challenged that voice rose out of her. Usually she was moaning or complaining, but she knew when she had to rise to the occasion and be that source of strength for me to keep me going in the middle of a crisis. She knew she had a limited reservoir of strength and used it sparingly. My mother was so wise most people could not even recognize it. It was like having a conversation about physics with Stephen Hawkings when my mother gave advice about life. You simply had to trust she knew more even when you could not fully understand what she was trying to say. Just follow.

Eventually all that will be left from the Tree and the fruit it bore are the seeds. Hopefully they will be absorbed into the ground and a new tree will rise. But for now the apple lays vulnerable to prey, birds, squirrels, rabbits searching for nourishment, and the elements, the wind, rain, and the bright sun if the clouds will simply uncover it..

I sang Que Sera Sera to my mother as she lay still while the last breaths slowly came and went providing the only other sound in the room. I gently laid my hands on her, petting her forehead or lightly rubbing the place above her still beating heart. Hear me Becky, please, hear me one more time, I pleaded. I am here with you. I will never leave. She could not make the same promise. The bond was broken with her last breath… The tree fell. Oh, the eternal puzzle pops up yet again: If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? I have finally found the answer. Yes. The Sorrow is so Loud only the Lord can hear it. It is not meant for mere mortals.