Grandad Lives in the Pear Tree

Grandad lives in the Pear Tree now.

That’s what they told me. I didn’t understand it then. Did he live in the branches? Did he live among the leaves? It was a big tree to my small eyes back then but I still didn’t see how he could live there. It seemed too small for him. Where was his bed going to fit? I wanted to ask, but Grandmama was too sad at the time. So I sat by the kitchen window of their old rickety house and stared out at the field. At the lone tree at the bottom of the garden. Surrounded by Grandmama’s flowers and Grandad’s vegetables. Next to the little wooden shed where Grandad kept his tools.

“...just like he wanted…”

“...sprinkled his ashes…”

“...loved that pear tree…”

My parents and Grandmama were talking but I didn’t understand it al all.

I didn’t see him out there. How could they say he was living in a tree when he wasn’t there? He wasn’t anywhere. Everyone was so sad that he decided to live in a tree! I was growing cross, I wanted to tell him to just come inside and have some pudding with Grandmama like they always did. He knew Grandmama could never finish it on her own! I huffed, folding my arms on the kitchen table and looked away. Stupid tree. It didn’t grow fruit anymore anyway. I was going to tell Grandad off when he got back.

Only… he didn’t come back that night. Or the next week when we visited the cosy country house. I had gone running into the house calling for him. My wellies smacked on the wooden floors as I burst into the living room, he was always on his favourite chair, the one with the flower patterns. But it was empty. I frowned, this wasn’t right. That was Grandad’s chair. Why wasn’t he in it? I heard a sound from the kitchen. Grandmama was there, well that was normal at least. But… why was she still sad? I could tell from the way her eyes crinkled and the tight line of her mouth that she wanted to cry. A sob escaped her as she turned away. My Mam came rushing in a second later and she frowned at me before rushing to Grandmama and hugging her. What did I do?

I stomped off. This was silly, if Grandad was in the garden in the tree, then I would go get him if no one else would! The grown ups were too busy in the kitchen so I made my way to the garden. The high steps were hard for my little legs, and Grandad always used to help me get down them. I screwed up my face and pushed myself off the first step, my little boots tapping on the wood. This wasn’t easy, but I was too determined to stop now. One leg dangled down until it hit the second step… and a little while later I made it down the last, onto the concrete slab that led to the garden path. I did it! I really did it by myself! I spun around to tell the grown ups--

But there was no one there. No one saw it. Grandad wasn’t in the door, towering over me with a big wrinkled smile. My shoulders sagged and I looked down. Why did he have to go live in the pear tree? A frown crossed my little face and my chubby hands balled up into fists. I was so cross at Grandad! He was supposed to come and see the first time I could do it myself! He was making everyone upset and breaking promises! Angry tears welled up in my eyes as I stomped my way down the garden path. My wellies made a satisfying slap on the stone pavers. I stormed down to the tree with fierce eyes. Stupid tree.

It stood enormous above me, leaves and branches swaying in the gentle breeze. As though there wasn't something terribly wrong about all of this. I looked up, craning my neck so far I stumbled backwards. I didn’t understand. He wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there?! That’s where the grown ups said he was! My teeth grit and my fists clenched. I kicked at that stupid tree with my little wellies. I kicked at the trunk and stomped on the exposed root over and over. I smacked it with my hands and shouted at that tree. Give him back! Give my grandad back! I hit and kicked that stupid tree until my arms hurt, until my toes tingled and ached in my boots. Rotten tree that didn’t give fruit anyway! ...Just... give my grandad back…

Fat tears rolled down my round chubby cheeks as I slowly slumped down to sit against the dumb tree. I was exhausted already. There was a pain in my chest, one I didn’t understand. I curled into myself and hid my face under my arms and I cried. I cried until the air around me cooled and the sun was going down in the distance.

“Hey kiddo.” I looked up, wide-eyed.

“Grandad?” And there he was. In his garden wellies, like mine but bigger and dirtier. His plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, brown pants tucked into his boots. The same weathered face I knew so well. He just… stood there. Smiling at me like he always did. That same warm wrinkled smile like the comforting sun on an autumn afternoon.

“It’s getting cold, you’d better head inside.” He chuckled, but my tear-stained face scrunched up into a scowl.

“No!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. He blinked in surprise. I had never spoken to him like that before. “Grandmama is sad! You can’t live in the tree! Go inside right now!” I stomped my foot and balled up my fists again. “You have to!” He looked at me for a long time, his expression becoming uncharacteristically sad. The giant man above me, who I thought was as tall as buildings, suddenly seemed frail as he lowered himself to sit beside me. I could almost hear his old bones creak as he leaned against the tree behind us.

“I planted this tree for your grandmother when we were just kids.” He began, and I was very confused. I didn’t understand what it had to do with anything, but I listened anyway, he loved to tell me about all the things he had planted for Grandmama. “I planned to fill the whole garden with fruit trees. She loves to make jams and fruit pies and all sorts of tasty treats.” I smiled. Grandmama always had a cake or tart baked for when we visited. He shifted and reached out to me, picking me up in his big hands, placing me in his lap, he reached into his breast pocket. I looked up as he wiped my face with his hanky. I shook my head.

“But Grandad… the tree won’t give pears.” I said with a tug of his shirt. He let out a soft chuckle and nodded.

“No, it doesn’t. But I planted this tree out of love, it grew lots of pears for a while, and while it might not anymore, it still gives us shade and is a part of this garden.” He reached out and petted my little head. I leaned against him, feeling sleepy all of a sudden. “So, little one, while things don’t always go our way, there are still good things for us to be thankful for.” He smiled at me proudly. “So, even though I can’t be around anymore, you can still remember good things when I was, okay?”

“So… you can’t come back?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh.” My head drooped. I wanted Grandad to come back inside and make everyone smile again. Maybe dance with Grandmama and make silly jokes that I didn’t understand but made everybody smile.

“It will be okay, kiddo.” He shifted to pat the strong trunk of the tree. “If you feel sad, come and talk to the tree. I can’t always answer but I will hear you.” He was looking at me with those faded brown eyes, and I knew he was telling the truth.

“Cos you live in the pear tree?”

“The part of my heart that stays with you does.” He nodded. “And…” He grinned. “I am so proud of you, you got down those stairs all by yourself.” I giggled.

“You promised to watch me.”

“I did.” He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “C’mon kiddo, let’s get you to bed.”

I don’t remember much after that. I remember a soft warm light and listening to one of the songs Grandad used to sing to me to help me sleep when I stayed with them. His soft deep voice filled my ears and lulled me to sleep.

The next day my Grandmama came and spoke to me. She told me about how Grandad had gotten sick. About how he had been very happy, even when he passed. I was sad for a long time, but I always remembered the good times. Just like he said. Whenever I felt sad, I could always speak to him at the tree.

It never did grow any pears, but Grandmama always had a garden full of flowers, full of colour and fragrance of its own kind. She taught me how to care for them, how to garden, as Grandad did for her. I remember her house always had plenty of fresh flowers in the vases around the house. Meanwhile the pear tree stood at the bottom of the garden, like a protector from the sun and the wind. Every now and then, when the wind would blow, it felt like the branches were waving. I always waved back.

I’m grown now. Grandmama passed now too and her ashes were scattered by the tree as well. I still talk to both of them from time to time; about my day, about my troubles. No matter how bad I feel, I can walk down to the bottom of the garden, in my wellies all worn and caked in mud, and sit by the base of that big old tree and feel at home. I can talk to them about anything and while they never answer, I swear I can feel a hand on my shoulder and a promise that it will be alright.

I know that no matter what happens, I am looked after. In this house. In this place, everything is alright, where Grandad lives in the pear tree.