Seasons come and seasons go, and that includes the seasons of life, something I've written about here before in the context of my journey to becoming a caregiver to my mom.
Something else I've written that I want to circle back to is the story of Mom, Dad, and the Christmas lights. It involved a Japanese maple that we have in our front yard, and how draping it in net lights one year for Christmas eventually turned into keeping the lights on the tree year-round.
We had them set on one of those dusk-to-dawn timer thingies, meaning they were on first thing in the morning when it was still dark outside, and when Mom was having to take my dad to his dialysis appointments. My dad, over the course of time, started having trouble with his vision, and those lights helped him and Mom be better able to navigate more safely to the car on those mornings - hence the decision not to take them down at the end of the Christmas holiday season.
As I mentioned, though Dad is no longer with us, we've kept the lights on that tree, as it has served as a bittersweet reminder of days gone by every time we look out the window at night. It's even helped Mom and me a few times when we had some early morning doctor appointments.
Last fall, Mom was talking to me about the Japanese maple and how it didn't look right. It didn't have much life to it, and we worried that maybe it had seen the last of its better days. Not knowing much about bloom/growth cycles, I tried to take the optimistic approach, telling her we should not jump the gun and should see how it looked over the spring and summer, because, just like it is elsewhere in the cooler months, there are some trees and bushes in our yard that look dead but then spring back to life when it gets warmer.
Obviously, we've gone through the warmer seasons this year, but unfortunately, the Japanese maple never came back to life. We were both crushed. We don't know what caused it, just that it's gone. It was a tough decision to make, but we've decided to talk to our lawn care guy, Eddie, about cutting it down and disposing of it, because this tree's season of life has come to a close.
It might sound a little strange, but there will probably be tears shed by both of us the day the Japanese maple comes down because of the sentimental attachment we have to it, especially for Mom.
Over the weekend, I took the lights off of it and brought the outdoor extension cord and dusk-to-dawn timer inside the house, but a funny thing happened on Monday.
Eddie came by late in the day to mow the grass. He had been planning on doing it around lunchtime Sunday and had gotten started, but his mower got a flat tire, so he had to come back the following day.
I didn't get a chance to talk to Eddie on Monday because I was juggling multiple things at the time, so I told Mom we'd touch base with him before his next trip here to inform him about cutting down the tree.
Around noon today, I stepped out to run a couple of errands, including picking up lunch for Mom and me, when I noticed a potted plant sitting in front of the Japanese maple. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a yellowish/bronze-colored chrysanthemum, a perfect color for the fall.
The only person who could have put it there was Eddie, who, as I've noted before, has a heart of gold. And of all the places he put it, he placed it right there at the Japanese maple that we are getting ready to ask him to cut down. He knows a little of the story behind the tree, but I plan on telling him more about it the next time he's here, when he'll cut it down.
It was such a kind gesture, and unknowingly done at a time when we were getting ready to say goodbye to a tree that has been there with us through many seasons of life. Mom texted Eddie to confirm he was the one who left it there for us, and once he did, we thanked him for bringing a smile to our faces amid what has been a very challenging month.
Though the mum won't last as long as the tree did, the memory - Lord-willing - of Eddie's small but meaningful act of kindness will last a lifetime.
