I said goodbye to a friend this week. Not a human friend – a tree friend. When we moved into this building in 2005, the tree grew in the center of the courtyard. It wasn’t the largest or most beautiful. Even then, it was a bit misshapen. In the spring, it grew tiny, white flowers that matured into tiny, dark berries in the summer. It was a constant presence for us, even if we didn’t always notice it. 

I began to take more note when our child was born, when she couldn’t sleep and I walked her up and down the courtyard path. As she grew older, we played make-believe with her stuffed animals taking up residence there. She hung from its branches, swinging back and forth like the young animal she was. We sat under it playing with dolls. It was nearby when, in the summer of 2020, we couldn’t go to the water park and instead unleashed a sprinkler in our yard, much to the chagrin of some of our neighbors. One year we found a cicada on the trunk, just emerging from its shell into its new, adult form. 

But in recent years, the tree’s bark had begun to turn black on one side. A number of the branches failed to sprout leaves. There had been rumblings from the condo board for the past several years – the tree may need to be cut down. And so it was that earlier this month, notices went up. The tree was infected with a blight. It would be cut down this week and later replaced. 

The morning it was to be removed, I took my daughter to school. She said, “This is the last time I will see the tree. Goodbye, tree.” “Goodbye, tree,” I echoed. And the memories I just described flooded through my mind. 

This is, in some ways, a very small thing – a tree replaced in the courtyard of a condominium. But it serves as another reminder for me of impermanence. What was with us for so long is quickly gone. What stood as a witness to our lives for nearly 20 years is no more. Or it may be more accurate to say – given how little we know about the potential inner lives of trees – that I stood as a witness to its life for nearly 20 years. When I didn’t notice it and when I did, it was there. It served as shade. It served as a shelter for tiny animals. Or again in search of greater accuracy, we used it for those things, whether it wanted to be of service or not. 

Its seed ended up in the earth. It sprouted, grew, matured. Blossomed, fruited, went dormant each winter. Became sick, dwindled, and died. It followed the path we all follow. 

It most likely did not consider me a friend, or may not have considered me at all, or may have been incapable of consideration. But still I consider it, and remember it, and say, in memory of a tree: “Goodbye, friend. I’ll miss you.”

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