I opened an e-mail from my dad this morning that brought back a flood of memories. He sent a copy of a letter he received from the neighbors/friends that lived next door to my grandparents for as long as I can remember. I think they had at least 30 kids, or at least it seemed like that. Between the cousins and the neighbor kids there was never a shortage of playmates when we went to visit.
My grandparents have a beautiful red cedar tree in their front yard. The kind of tree that is every kids dream climbing tree. It has branches low enough to make a small child feel like king/queen of the world, and branches that reach higher for the more daring souls. That tree's had three generations of Norman's swinging from it's branches. Actually, probably four because I'm sure my pop-pop climbed a branch or two. It's always been a fixture at my grandparent's house.
After the heavy winter this year, one of the branches broke from the weight of the snow. The Capaldi's helped to cut down the branch, and this is what she sent us:
I just cried when I saw this. The note that she sent talked about how she felt the heart represented the love between my grandparents, the love for their family, and for their neighbors. It brought back some bittersweet memories. And the thought of that tree breaking kind of breaks my heart. I love trees- there's a beauty about them that's always fascinated me. But the beauty of that heart in the branch is a perfect symbol of my grandparents. The thought that struck me about the photo was that sometimes the thing that threatens to break and destroy you, like the heavy winter snow, is actually what allows the hidden beauty to shine through.
Beauty is found in so many places- in hearts and trees, and in memories. I hope that tree survives for many more generations to come, broken places and all.
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