Pick some pansies for me

We planted a small apple tree the spring after you were born still. It has never failed to sprout beautiful white blossoms every year since you have been gone. This spring was no different.  But as the calendar flew through July, the leaves on the tips of your tree started to turn brown and weep.  I took a sample to the garden centre and was told it had fire blight.  Fungicides and herbicides were not recommended.  Instead, I was advised to be very aggressive and prune each branch several inches below the brown parts. In addition, we were told to bleach the pruning tool between every cut to prevent the spread of the disease, and hopefully save the tree. Unfortunately there was a lot of brown, and we had to severely prune the tree. Your dad did all the hard labor.  We felt awful doing it--it's fragrant spring blossoms have brought us a lot of comfort over the years. It was indeed grown with love in your memory.  

Last night as I was watering the flowers planted around your tree, I studied the tree and once again worried whether it would survive the winter.  And then a new thought floated into my mind.  As much as the tree was planted in memory of your short life, it's possible demise does not have to be symbolic of your death.  Instead, it would be more synonymous with the difficulties eventually faced by almost every living thing here on earth: such as sadness or illness. I know you live on...fluttering to a different measure of space and time.  To me, you are perfect--only knowing love, peace and happiness--free from mortal afflictions--safe with God.

And for the first time this summer you get to celebrate your birthday with Great Grandma Owens.  I miss her dearly. She made the most mouth-watering dad's cookies, bread and raspberry pie--soaked with fresh cream. And she loved to kiss the babes--no matter the age.  Enjoy those hugs and kisses Bret and know we are sending you lots too. Grandma always loved pansies--so please pick some for her today and she will bake you a masterpiece to celebrate your 19th heavenly birthday in style.  Happy Birthday Babe!

Love Mom.
xo

Written in memory of Bret Nathan Munro--
born with wings 
August 27, 1995.