Big memories, but a small memorial
celebrations, Corona virus, family, Ryan
We had an ancient oak on our property, just over the creek. My husband would snuggle under it with his little grand fairies and tell them family stories. He wanted to share memories of people who had passed and places they had come from.
They always called it the “Grandfather Tree”.
When it was lost to a storm, we had it turned into a dining table, big enough to seat our whole family without pulling in extra tables for more space. When we were together, we were a total of 11, and I’d joked it was a Nathans’ Dozen, kinda like a bakers’ Dozen wasn’t exactly twelve either.
When Ryan died, his Indiana cousins sent a tiny oak for us to plant. I don’t know if they knew about the Grandfather Tree, or if it was just luck that the gift they sent was also an oak. But when Sugarwings saw the type of tree, she suggested we call it “The Uncle Tree”. She used a wood burning tool to write that on a sign her daddy made from some cedar planks we had.
We planted the little tree, and most of the remaining Nathan Dozen sprinkled some ashes on it, while saying something about Ry Guy. I had confetti to throw too. He would have thought that was funny.
He was always laughing with me.
As I was gathering up the wrappings the oak had come in, I almost threw away a small, silver plaque that said “The Cousin Tree” that had been sent along with it. We added that to Sugarwings’ sign.
The oak is near our gazebo, filled with the wind chimes we received and the ones Ryan had hung there. 
On the other side of the gazebo is a weeping redbud that was sent by the Guncles, and a vintage rose bush sent by a friend.
Rich and I like to turn on a sprinkler that waters them in an arc around us, while the hens play in the spray and the breeze makes the chimes sing to us. On the hottest days, this is a cool, shady place to sit with a glass of wine in the evening, holding Dorothy (Ryan’s favorite dog) on my lap.
Ry and I had a habit of watching a tv show together every night after dinner, and this has taken the place of tv watching for that hour. It is comforting.
Sometimes, I sit there and embroider.
The roses Ryan had planted for me were in full bloom the day we planted the Uncle Tree, so we placed some ashes around the rose bush too, and on the iris bulbs he had planted. Although the rest of the iris around the farm were done, there was one last flower in the patch.
Because of the Corona Virus, there was no funeral.
There was no hustle bustle of running to the airport to gather up family members and hugs from far away.
Ryan was a quiet guy who didn’t care for crowds. With his sensory disorder, crowded places were physically hard for him to be in. But he was also a loving soul who enjoyed his one on one conversations when he was in a group.
I feel bad that he did not get a big goodbye, but he is one of many who could not have the funeral they should’ve. We have lost over 100,000 people, plus the ones like my boy, who died, not from the virus itself, but from what I feel is Covid related circumstances.
Maybe our small gathering due to social distancing was just what Ryan would have preferred. And while I missed being able to have a funeral, I felt as if I had gotten hugs from afar with all of the cards, letters, flowers, and gifts that caring people had sent.
I treasured each and every kind message, comment, and thought. I am rereading notes, drying flowers, and saving empty vases to mosaic on. We are tending bushes and trees sent in his memory and listening to the melody of the wind in the chimes. Each and every compassionate item that came to us helped, and was appreciated.
Thank you all for caring.
And Ryan, thank you for being my friend, walking buddy, caretaker, horror movie watching companion, helper, and my little boy.
I will always miss my baby.
