Meet Me By The Willow Tree

You come to understand a lot of things in death. You’re able to detach, put things in perspective and see their true meanings.

When I was alive, I aspired for love, as most do. And I found it. I found it in the most unexpected of places, but also in the most ordinary. That’s the one thing that I look back on in life with real pride. I loved, and I loved deeply. But there was always one facet of love that I didn’t quite understand, that took me passing over to see for what it is.

In my twenties, my hunt for love was at its peak. I was searching for it in others, but also within myself. I tried many methods, talked to many people, but there was always one thing I came back to: searching for love in a higher power. And I found that in spirituality, with all its promises of higher consciousness and kundalini awakenings. I remember all those times I sat cross-legged on my bed, back pressed against the cool white wall of my bedroom, and meditated, envisioned all my chakras aligned and glowing. I saw all the colours in my mind, from violet at my crown, to red at the base of my spine. But it was the light I saw glowing at my heart chakra, the green light, that fascinated me the most. Why green? Why, at the heart centre, where love had made itself a home, was there green light? I always found that strange. Our beating hearts pump red, so surely red is more indicative of love, not green? I never understood why.

Now, as my body was covered in a white shroud and placed next to the shallow grave, did I understand why love shone with a green light.

I had picked out a wonderful spot to be buried. I had walked through this forest many times, first with my family when I was young, next on my own when I had grown into adolescence. I had brought my girlfriend, who eventually become my wife, and we later brought our children. I knew these trees like the back of my hand, could trace their spindly roots like the thin bones of my hands traversing under my skin.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone through the branches of the trees, lighting the forest floor into different shades of gold, brown, silver. My family stood gathered around, huddled together like they were fighting off the cold. I saw sadness etched into the lines of their faces, and my heart ached for them. I wanted to reach out, to let them know that I wasn’t really gone, that the essence of me remained. But even though this was my funeral, this time wasn’t for me. It was for them, to grieve, to cry, to let me go and move on.

But as the funeral progressed, I saw love shine through the darkness. Eulogies were read, anecdotes were shared, and there was laughter as my life was celebrated. I watched our daughter loop her arm around my wife’s waist, and my wife interlocking her fingers with my son’s, and I was forcefully reminded of the way a vine twists and interlinks with a tall tree. The love present in those gestures comforted me. They had each other and would continue to support each other in my absence.

The funeral was drawing to an end, and it was time to lay my body to rest. I was picked up and carefully placed in the shallow hole, earth almost tenderly placed above my body. When the hole was filled, my wife got down on her knees and carefully planted the willow sapling right over my grave. Tears ran familiar tracks down her face, but the ends of her mouth were curved into a small smile, the smile I had spent so much time admiring. When she was finished, and the sapling stood proud in the gentle breeze, she stood and carefully took one pale green leaf between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll see you soon, darling,” she said, before giving a watery chuckle. “I hope you like the tree. Spent a lot of time picking this one out.”

I love it, I said, praying she could hear me. It’s beautiful.

I hope the willow tree grows large and beautiful from my grave. I don’t want the willow to weep from the loss of my life, I want it to grow tall and reach its branches up towards the heavens, while spreading the roots down, forming a human-shaped tangle where my body once lay. I want to give back, to be the guiding green light for my family, to help them in their times of need, when they are searching for love. I imagine the warm summer days when they travel to this part of the forest, searching out my tree that they have marked with a simple love heart. I can almost smell the picnics they bring with them, elderflower cordial and strawberry sandwiches. I can hear their full laughter, carried up to the leaves in the warm air. I can feel their bodies resting against the trunk of the tree, the roots giving them purchase as our children latch onto the low hanging branches, aiming for the bough. I imagine their shouts of glee, childlike fervour reignited as they realise they can see the entire forest, stretching out to the edges of the horizon. But I also imagine the harder days, the days where they miss me, or feel lost and without connection. On those days, I imagine myself standing strong, a silent sentinel for them to lean against, to talk to, to cry to. I imagine the branches of the tree dipping down wipe their tears, to hold them while they grieve. I imagine the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above their heads becoming a symbol of new hope, that things will always get better.

Watching my family say their final goodbyes, patting the small willow above my grave, I had the sudden wish to become part of the whole forest, to become part of their every season, to be with them forever. I want to spread out, to become part of all the colours nature has to offer. Reflect the violet and indigo streaks in the night sky. Shimmer off the cool pools of blue water that stream throughout the forest. Sway with the yellow of the sunflowers in the summer, and crunch with the orange of the autumn leaves when the weather turns cool. To feel the red ladybird treading her tiny feet across my grave, helping her take wing and fly away.

That is love. Becoming part of something much bigger than yourself. Taking root, extending helping hands. Admitting that you were never alone, not for one second. The earth was always there, providing for you, supporting you, watching as you grew, and laughed, and fell, and loved, loved, and loved again.

As cliché as it may sound, death is never the end. Love allows you to live forever. Life and death aren’t opposite ends of a taut rope; they’re a never-ending circle, feeding into one another. Love has made my death so full of life, so full of new memories and joy to experience. My ending has borne new fruit for others to enjoy.