Tree

“Daddy, I don't quite understand this story,” my daughter looked nonplussed after reading Britta Teckentrup's The Memory Tree.

The story seems so very, very surreal and metaphorical.

Set in a snowy winter, the book's beginning has the death scene of Fox. One by one, Fox's animal friends in the forest came to recall the precious moments with him. Owl talked about how they raced to see who could catch more falling leaves. Bear reminisced the day when Fox looked after her cubs. And, in the morning, a small tree grew in the clearing where Fox took his last breath.

“Oh yes. That's an obituary (and this was the first time she heard this big word), and the tree is a symbol of leaving a legacy behind when we die.”

The tree is as much as it is part of the forest, as much connected to the animals, in celebration of life and the memories that live on, as it is to do with sheltering all the animals and giving strength to the branches that hold the birds' nests.

While I don't think the topic is easy for an eight-year-old to grasp, I have to say it's also the first time for me to write obituary today. When I think back about my friend who died 19 years after receiving his heart transplant, I see a similar tree left behind, going to grow higher and higher, buzzing more and more with life. To those who like philosophy, this is the reverse of asking the clichéd question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one is present to hear it, does it make a sound? You could spend hours arguing for the riddle of toppling tree, but my obvious answer to someone whose work was anchored, his tree will be heard forever.