THE GIVING TREE: THE FINAL DAYS

In all my years, up to now…I have never really or fully grasped the arc of life…the bud of the rose, the bloom, and the browning of and falling off of the petals.

I glimpsed it in the book, “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein that I read to my kids when they were young. I knew about it, of course, but it was only a myth, or a suspended reality, until very recently.

I saw my dear grandparents get older…and die, but when I was born they were in their early 60’s. My father’s mother was 66 when I was born. I never saw them when they were anywhere but the later stages of their lives. They had gray hair when I first met them. But now, in my 50’s, I see two people who I knew when they were strong and radiant….when they were my world. They were the personification of love and security. They were much closer in time to their childhoods when I first came into their lives as a baby then they were to old age, or death. I remember my dad’s deep, dark, black hair…he was larger than life, he was the conductor of not only my family, but even the city we lived in. He was the mayor of his city. He had a large footprint.

My mother had deep brown hair…she sang opera for a time, and played golf, reluctantly…she was involved in several charities in our town…and she was the mother you dream of when you are a child who has no mother. She was solid, like bedrock. Bedrock never dies.

The realization has been trickling in for a few years…but only very recently is it presenting itself as a stark reality, an immovable object. It turns out it wasn’t a myth after all…it’s not just something that happens to people from a different era, or to other people….it’s inescapable….and it can even take away “bedrock”.

My mom and dad, Sally and Jim, had lived in the same house since 1954, in Glendale, California; the most perfect city that a kid could ever grow up in. It wasn’t until last year that they decided, with the urging of the rest of the family, to sell their home, their castle, where my dad does his gardening, and where they have hosted hundreds of large social and family events over the decades. I think it is very fair to say that in Glendale, my parent’s home was like the White House. Every local, and even many statewide and national politicians were guests at our home for dinners and gatherings. My mother hosted countless wedding showers and baby showers over the years…dozens and dozens. My parents hosted a Christmas Eve tradition that started in 1954, well before I was born. It had lost a little steam as people had faded away or died, but it was still going strongly as recently as 2014. My mother had been cooking home made lasagna for 60 years for Christmas Eve. She had made it for thousands of guests on the 24th of December…without a pause.

Last year they sold that home. My mother was having trouble with the stairs that led to the front and back doors. She had had several falls and some were scary…..the decision was made though it was especially hard for my father who spent much of his day in the backyard garden…caring for his vegetables and flowers. It was the end of an era.

They moved to a facility in Pasadena that allows for a variety of care…everything from just a place where they made your meals, to assisted living, and even hospice and post hospital care. They were there to take you to the “end zone”, whenever that would be. This was the final train stop.

“Come, Boy come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.” – The Giving Tree

My mother is 86 and she recently fell in the cafeteria at her Living Center. She broke her leg. She needed surgery and then she was sent back to the post hospital care facility where she lives. I went and visited her there one day…I was by myself and my dad was not there. As I walked into the quiet room I could see that my mom was asleep. She looked so feeble….she has had some balance issues but she otherwise sounds great and she looks great…but on this day I was dealt a strong blow. I tried to wake her from her sleep…but she was breathing in a way I had never seen before….it was like she was on her last breath…she didn’t come to consciousness as I tapped her on the shoulder. She moaned a little and she labored heavily, mouth open. She looked life she was somewhere between life and death. I started to tear up….seeing an imposter posing as my mother in that bed…with a broken leg. Who was this lady? Was this a point of no return? Where is the mother I have known?, the one who was always there to greet me as a child when I walked the mile home from my elementary school…..the one who was always there for me….even when I probably didn’t deserve it….the ultimate person whom you take for granted.

“and she loved a boy very much, even more than she loved herself” – The Giving Tree

My dad is 91. I have always described him as the “least lazy person I have ever met”. I visited him yesterday in his apartment at the Living Center. He misses my mom tremendously as they are separated until my mom’s leg heals. His hair is now white…he walks slowly and with a bent over back. His voice and personality don’t have the energy they once had…not even close. He doesn’t attack life anymore like he used to…he has no goals anymore. Sometimes when I am talking with him in the quiet of his living room I squint my eyes, and imagine the dad of my youth….or even the dad when my own kids were babies. I try and reconcile the sobering differences.

No one is depending on my dad for anything, now…..no one holds their breath anymore waiting for him to speak…as they once did when he was mayor. He has no engagements, no “work” to do….most all of his friends are gone now, as are his sisters and brother. He could walk down Brand Blvd. in Glendale now and no one would know his face, but they once did.

“Take my apples, boy, and sell them in the city, then you will have money, and you will be happy.

And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away…

And the tree was happy” – The Giving Tree

I have known my dad most of his life…before he had a wrinkle or a faded memory. I have seen much of the arc of that life, and of my mother’s…and now, It feels like they are living on borrowed time…the word could come any day. It will surely be the end of an era. For all of us, even the children of the today’s world…the “day” will come….until very recently, it hasn’t even been a remote contemplation…it has been like starting on a journey to Pluto…you don’t think about what you are going to wear when you land for a long, long, time….it's the last thing on your mind. The “end” seems like a fairy tale story….but the truth is that we will all land on "Pluto", someday.

My mom and dad are almost to “Pluto”, traveling through time and space in their spacecraft…..and it has been a very long and glorious journey, indeed.

“And the boy loved the tree.......very much. And the tree was happy.”