The gray matters.

I was eight years old when my mother gave me the seed of a weeping willow, her favorite tree in the world. For years, I kept this seed up in a little brown box in the top of my closet, its existence completely leaving my mind. Not once did I think of it again, not once. That was until my mother died thirteen years later. ~~ The room was uncomfortably cold and dry on the day of the funeral. The walls were a dreary, dull gray, as was the floor and ceiling. We had all been trapped in this cold, gray box for an hour now. I felt guilty, being bored. This was my mother’s funeral, and I was bouncing my leg up and down in a useless attempt at stimulation. Sitting in the front row, along with the rest of my mother’s children, my eyes wandered all over the room. Just about my whole family was there, uncles, aunts, cousins, even my dad’s family was there, which was a surprise. Regardless of who it was, they were there for one thing: that of course being the remembrance and celebration of my mom. Be that as it may, I couldn’t help but feel many of their eyes on me. I was being watched. Looking back, I’d see a cousin or a grandparent. They’d offer a polite smile before awkwardly scanning the room as if they weren’t just burning holes into the back of my head. I bit the inside of my cheek. I hated being in this spot. The unofficial center of attention. Everyone was looking for some sort of reaction out of me. What was I to do? Was I supposed to be sobbing? Weeping? Inconsolable? I had been none of those things. I didn’t know what I felt. I was numb. The numbness I felt in that chair at that moment, I carried after the funeral had been over. As I watched the dirt cover my mother, cementing her spot under the earth for the rest of days, I felt nothing. My mother was buried by the church she grew up in, next to her father. The newly covered ground was covered with flowers and handwritten notes. I had nothing to offer, no note nor flower. I only gazed at the ground, where she now lay. The graveyard was surprisingly quite pretty. The delicate winter air and chill brought a liveliness most would be surprised to see in such a place. Short, vibrant grass covered the area, and in the distance were some trees. The trees were further out but abundant and fully grown. Squinting my eyes, I noticed something strange, a tree of green. In the dead of late winter, in a place devoid of evergreens, was a green tree. A sense of familiarity began to fill me, and my eyes strained as I gazed upon the wooded area. My chest began to hurt and every breath was followed by dread. The tree. In the distance was a weeping willow. The tree remained in my mind, and eventually in my dreams. All that I had left of her, in my mind, was not her face but the tree. A symbol was all she was to me now. And at that realization, I felt the weight of her absence on my chest. The third night after the funeral, my soul ached. As if the past days were a dream, and now I had been awakened. Never again would I see her, never again would I lie in her arms, never again would she comfort me with a hug, never again could she tell me she loved me, that she was proud of me. Tears spilt from my eyes, and my heart was in my stomach. My chest hurt. I felt sick. It was too late. There could be no going back. Every time I raised my voice, said I hated her, or avoided spending time with her. I had been so awful, and for what? Now I am here, and she is nothing but a memory. What could have been? Tears were flowing down my face, and I couldn’t breathe. After air finally began to flow into me, I had been shaking and cold. A chill ran through my body. Exhaustion had finally taken over. Lying there on my bed shivering and numb, I finally gave in and fell into sleep. The following day began in a dreamlike haze. My eyes were tired, and I felt down but couldn’t cry. I dragged myself around the place that once housed her. In her absence, this “home” was now nothing more than a building. I wanted to be gone. Walking into the kitchen, I saw dishes in the sink and spilled salt on the countertop. Perhaps if she were here, they would be gone. In the fridge was meat, cheese, milk-all things that would slowly waste away now without her to use them. In the living room was her chair and bookshelf. I only wonder how long until the books are caked in dust and the pages yellowed. Her bedroom housed her clothes, ones she would never decorate herself in again. It is so difficult to imagine a world without the person who brought you into it. I grit my teeth and clenched my fist. It just wasn’t fair. It was over. I let out a cry and pound my fist against the walls of the house that were now haunted by her absence. ~~ I had to clear my head, so I decided to leave the house and go for a walk. The cold crisp air of the midday hit me like a train, and I couldn’t resist shivering. Icy air surrounded me, and as I looked up into the clear sky I felt rejuvenated, alive. There was something strange about seeing everyone act normally. There was life out here, albeit not much in the winter. But there were people talking and children playing and everything in between. I needed this. The house was now a shallow reminder of what once was, and being outside reminds me that the world is more than my mind. But I couldn’t stay out forever, after a while the winter chill got to me and I decided to head back home. As I was returning, I noticed the streetlights turned on. The crisp air and faint glow from above gave me no choice but to smile. I looked up at the sky and laughed while a tear ran down my face. There was so much out there, and she got to experience so much of it, and now it is my turn. Life is short, and we all know that. Why waste time here with despair when I could be celebrating what has been? I forced a wide grin but looked back down. If only it were that easy. The tears began flowing, and I couldn’t help but let out a cry. If I could force myself to keep thinking those things perhaps I would feel okay. But I was selfish. I wanted to spend time with her; I didn’t want her to go yet. Was I supposed to gain a lesson from this? I didn’t want to learn anything; I just wanted to stop being alone. I found a bench nearby and sat down and sulked. If only I could force myself to look on the bright side, to understand this is a part of life. I would have to get over this eventually, right? When would that be, and why couldn’t it be now? Did I even want to get over it? Does that mean forgetting her? How long would it be until I did? When comes the day her face becomes a blur… It felt so ridiculous, someone becoming a “blur”. I couldn’t help but crack up a little. Suddenly, I felt a drop of water on my shoulder. Should have checked the forecast before leaving. The rain slowly but surely began to pick up, and a few minutes later, it was pouring. Water washed the dirty street and drenched the ground. I had been at least twenty minutes away from the house and couldn’t bear to move. Pulling my knees to my chest, I stayed on the bench and allowed the rain to wash my tears. It was as if the universe was weeping with me. I didn’t want to lose Mom. The rain was my comfort and my validation as I sat and sobbed. The wind started to pick up. It felt so nice, the winter night was chilly, and the rain brought about a kind of feeling I used to love as a child. There were so many times I would go out and dance in the rain and stomp around, and my mom would be mad at first, but then follow me and have fun. A smile slipped through as I recalled those times. Leaning back, I let out a laugh accompanied by tears. What a great time that was! I am so glad I have that. No one can take that away. I feel warm and take a deep breath. I am so happy, so grateful to have had her as my mother. Those moments could never be traded. Inhaling deeply, I felt content. And then, I feel something slap against my face. I grab it to see that it is a leaf. A thin, long green leaf. How curious, it was winter. I thought about the funeral. I knew what kind of tree this leaf came from. I kiss the leaf and let it leave me with the wind. It is time to go home, I’ve decided. It was a calm and solemn walk. I began to shiver, and my hands were desperately shoved into my pockets to keep warm. That accursed tree would not leave me alone. I smiled; she really did love them. After a while, I see the house. Usually, I would be excited to walk in, but now I was fearful. Scared of the feelings I would be forced to confront. Nevertheless, I walked in the door. I walked down the hall and then into my room. The funeral, the leaf in the storm, I had been reminded of something very dear. I open my closet door, and in it I see clothes and books and all sorts of things, but those didn’t matter now. I looked at the top of my closet and threw everything aside until I saw it. That little brown box my mother had given to me all those years ago. I took the box and looked down at it, tears once again falling down. What was I to do with this? Throw it away? Keep it in the closet? No, this was a seed, and I would plant it. I opened the box and was amazed. The light little piece of white that was the seed was right there, right in front of me. It was so soft, so delicate and light. I put it back into the box and brought it outside. My recently dried shirt became wet again as the rain gave no mercy. I found a few tools in the garage and finally broke ground. Creating a little hole in the earth, I opened the box once more. The rain began letting up. The delicate seed quietly went into the ground and was then covered. It was done. The clouds broke apart, and I watched as the sun waved goodbye upon the horizon. Beautiful. My mother’s body was in another place, but my mother was here. Through a smile and some tears, I said goodbye.