Loves

Wanna know why I loves the Internets?

I loves it because so many readers who know of my fears that Graham will forever be an only child, pointed out echoes of symbolism in my recent lonely tree lament that I didn't even see myself when I was writing it.

I loves it because within 24 hours of posting that lament for my lonely wedding tree I got e-mails from two cousins - both women I have always loved as sisters - reassuring me that the seedlings they had received at our wedding had been planted and were flourishing under their care.

One of them wrote: "Interestingly, or perhaps symbolically, the (tree) that lived is planted right beside the kids' wooden backyard climber (their choice location) and has been beaten with bats, tied up with skipping ropes, hugged mercilessly, jumped on from above, run over with sleds and crazy carpets, fed to guinea pigs, peed on by dogs and almost loved to death.

"It seems to thrive on the abuse of my four children as well as dozens more I have daycared in the past years. It was the perfect height for a preschooler, so every winter when we made bird feeders to hang up, or Christmas decorations, it was the perfect choice. If facing adversity builds strength and character, this tree shall have a long and happy life."

But not a lonely one, it seems. Not a lonely one.

My tree

I am unabashedly sentimental about my tree.

It is a fir tree and it started as one of more than 125 seedlings, perhaps eight inches in length, that we handed out as gifts to our wedding guests in September 2002.

We planted three of the trees, just days after our wedding, in the backyard lawn of the house that we had recently purchased; the house where we were sure that our dreams would take root and blossom just as surely as our seedlings.

But two of the trees died almost immediately.

And the seedlings that my parents planted at their house promptly died too. And over the next few years as I asked other wedding guests about their trees I learned, to my dismay, that it seemed all our gifts - our symbols of growth and promise - had similarly failed to grow and take root.

It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did.

I started to inquire in earnest and before long I determined that the remaining tree in our backyard is indeed the lone survivor of our marriage celebration, the only tangible evidence of how far we have come and how much we have grown.

And so, I am just a little bit protective of my tree.

I have watched it for almost seven years now. I have despaired about its ability to withstand the sleet and the snow and the rain.

But I have marveled at the way just a day of sunshine has the power to make it seem new and how swiftly nature's warmth and kindness can bring forth tiny, hopeful buds.

But now that my tree is clearly growing big and strong and independently, I worry about how I can possibly keep it close as we move into a new home and a new chapter of our lives.

There is no room for my tree at the new house, but there is no way I can just leave it behind.

Because it is my only one.

And I am unabashedly sentimental about my tree.