Memories are made of this

Published on by Laura Bloomsbury

5 years ago I framed these autumnal leaves from our two Acer trees. It was the day of Martin’s late October funeral. Here they are released from behind the glass, scanned, and ready to be let go of…And the Acers too were released from the confines of their pots this Spring, and have put down roots in my garden now. It’s called ‘moving on’ albeit a little like an amputee:

Some ghostly mycelial thread
still runs from him through soil and tree to me.
Nothing will fill the hole that gaped
when he was uprooted from the world.

Extract of Patricia Zylius’ poem “The Missing” in memory of Martin 07.10.18

8 thoughts on “Memories are made of this”

  1. Lovely Acer leaves and even more poignant is that extract. My son is so very much a part of my garden, it is both a pleasure and heartache. The 7th October is also the date my mother died, I may have shared this with you before. Eighteen years now, but I still recall that day. Peace be with you today Laura.

    1. I know this is a date we share Jude and now you have some very raw grief to bear- the passage of time never fills that hole left by the absence of our loved ones. However the garden keeps many memories – fresh each year and always connected.

      This year the Acers are hardly showing any foliage changes yet perhaps due to the amount of rain and cooler summer we had but at least they are flourishing,. Martin and I saw them grow from very small saplings so they are very special to me and besides they suit the Japanesque garden

      1. Just realised it is actually 28 years since my mother died. I definitely have brain fog…

        So nice that you have your lovely Acers.

  2. I’m finding it’s time to let got of similar mementos. I was wondering today if I was erasing the past, but decided not. It’s not the thing that holds the memories. (K)

  3. Today I had some moments with leaves and leaves in the wind. Always paid attention, yet it feels different now. More of kinship now I think. I took one particular leaf and placed it on the bench beside me while I had my morning coffee. Is that odd to remember?

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