One of the other trees on my property has the same kind of sproutlings as the dead tree stump I wrote about yesterday. But the sproutings are just that...tiny outcroppings that are nothing more than tiny clusters of branches that will never become a whole tree again.
The tree is dead...yet, tiny sprigs of life remain.
That's just the way life is. There are some life events that irretrievably change who we fundamentally are...life events that turn a part of our life progression into a hacked off tree stump. And while that part of our life essentially dies, the life force within remains in tact, allowing tiny sprigs to spring forth from time to time, reminding us that there is still a desire within for the tree to exist, even when the tree, itself, has died.
My mom's death is just like the dead tree stump, but the relationship itself still grows out of that irretrievable loss, just like that cluster of tiny warrior sprigs that refuse to let the essential truth of the tree cease to exist.
I love the beauty in this dichotomy between life and death...and the paradox of how life can still grow out of death and decay.
The tree stump stays...and I will create something lovely and amazing in that space to remind me that life after death does, indeed, exist.
