LINK TO MY DAD
My Dad died last weekend. He was nearly 90 and had become very ill suddenly so, while we are very sad and there are lots of tears, we are relieved as well. He didn’t want to suffer and was adamant that we were to “pull the plug” (his words) at the first opportunity. It didn’t come to that, but I realise now that we’ve been so fixated on not letting him suffer that we didn’t talk about what he wanted for his funeral or as a memorial, and there’s nothing specified in his will.
Living memorial
When I think of a memorial of a life, what springs to my mind isn’t a plaque or a tombstone or even a bequest, although all those things may be just right for someone else.
For me it is a plant that’s the memorial of choice, and probably a tree. It is reassuring to think of something that’s living and growing and will give back to the environment when you are long gone.
My sister suggested we plant a tree, too, but there’s a snag where Dad’s concerned. Although I come from a long line of gardeners — on both sides of my family green thumbs abound — Dad was the exception.
During a lifetime of living with gardeners he managed to avoid any form of gardening. My mother even created a garden without lawn as she knew that he wouldn’t mow it and it would just become a touchy area.
I admit he did once build some garden steps — very dodgy ones — and he did dig a few drains, but I have no recollection of him ever planting anything or even watering. Indeed, the block of land he chose for our family home was on a steep site that faced south — the exact opposite of what a gardener would choose.
He was, however, very keen on staging family photographs in the garden. I have lots showing me and my siblings posed around our mother with the garden as a backdrop. There’s even shots of us posed on those dodgy steps.
But he could surprise. When my husband and I bought a property at Kurrajong outside Sydney with a tree-lined drive, it was Dad who identified the trees. Look at those persimmons he said, as we walked up the drive under their shady canopy.
He remembered them from his childhood growing up in Adelaide, he told me. They were the old-fashioned tart kind that had to be completely ripe and squishy before they could be eaten.
So, I do have a link between a tree and my Dad and, even better, this is the time of the year when persimmons are looking magnificent.
In May they have bold autumn foliage and ripening fruit that hangs like joyful orange decorations on the tree long after the leaves have fallen. In that way, it is even quite symbolic! Finding a link
If it is too hard to talk to someone about their funeral or how they would like to be remembered, perhaps start a conversation about plants, gardens or their childhood memories.
A tree of some sort is sure to surface before too long, and then you have a link to something to plant, grow or just observe, to remind you of someone who’s no longer there.
Not everyone has a garden that’s large enough to accommodate a tree. Other plant memorial options could include sponsoring a tree in a public garden or park.
Perhaps I’ll plant a persimmon for Dad, and certainly when I see one growing it will trigger that wonderful memory of my father.