It’s spring, and all the other trees are in full bloom. This one is trying to bloom, even though it’s dying.
It’s worn out. Tired. The signs are everywhere. And yet it’s trying with all its might to bloom. To keep trying. To keep going. Because it always has. Every spring. Without fail.
For years. It’s weathered all kinds of storms. Enjoyed it share of sunshine. Nurtured life in its branches. Provided sheltering shade.
One day, sooner or later, this tree won’t be here anymore. I’m going to miss it. Mourn it. But I’ll know that it was time. It was done.
I look at this tree trying to bloom while dying and see my mom, who’s dying of Alzheimer’s.
(I wrote this in the spring of 2020. Mom died in the spring of 2021.)
© Author Lisa Fipps. Do not copy or print any part of this without written permission from the author.