Someone Stole our Apple Tree

In Early Fall, I decided to walk in my backyard after my diagnosis. It used to be a place of peace, meditation, and gardening—a place I slowly created each year and built upon with my children. I wanted to be amongst my roses and fruit trees. I tried to pray and reflect upon my life, health, and family. Each rose bush is planted in the ground for someone dear in the family. Nikolai and Becca have different types of pink rose bushes. Gabriel chose a blue rose bush, which flowers each year gorgeous violet-colored roses. Anastasia’s favorite color is orange. Her roses vary in shades from yellows to whites, peaches, and oranges. Our cypress trees were little when we planted them, and so were our fruit trees: apples and pears.

That day, there was a hole, a crater in the ground. Someone used a shovel and unrooted one of our apple trees. It was supposed to bear fruit for the first time this year, and it was devastating, just like the news from Dr. K’s office a few hours ago. The soil was dry, and with my hand, I could feel root remains dried up and assimilating into the color of the desert ground. There was no more life in this crater, only signs of the past.

I stood there, like a statue with no emotions on her face, confused, angry, and scared. Who would walk into my backyard and un-root an apple tree? Who would take memories of my children and me planting an apple tree into the ground, watering it, talking to it, and visiting it on our backyard walks?

Life has been taken. A hole is what is left.