There’s a tree that sits just outside our garden. I planted it about four and a half years ago. I used to watch it grow, willing it to show its leaves above our fence line.
I would often stand in the garden with my little West Highland White Terrier, Molly. She loved to look over the fence, and I’d often plonk her upon my chest or my shoulders so she could see out into the communal garden.
At that time, the little trees’ highest leaves were barely peeking above the fence line.
Molly wasn’t a very well girl. She had some health issues that led to my partner and I making the agonising choice to end her suffering. We’d booked a locum vet to visit our home. She’d had so many health issues over the years that she’d developed a debilitating anxiety surrounding vet clinics. We wanted her last hour to be in a space where she felt calm and safe.
The vet gave our girl a preparative sedative injection. She squirmed a little bit after receiving it, so I picked her up to look out of the window, into the garden she loved so much. We gazed upon that tiny little twig of a tree together, for the last time.
Then I was called over to the couch where we held her and kissed her farewell. We were devastated.
As the days passed by, I found the strength to start collecting her blankets, toys and other doggy possessions. I discovered her hairbrush with her wiry, white hair still wound through it. I teased a clump of it out and tucked it into the soil that surrounded the tree. From this day forth, it would be called my Molly Tree.
Now, approximately three years later, I’m looking out of that window again. That little twig of a tree is now so tall that it shoots well above our fence line. It even has three small branches extending out from it. Up until now, a scattering of green leaves has adorned it.
I’ve admired its resilience over the years. It’s survived intense winds, freezing nights, scorching heat, lack of water and whatever else the elements have thrown at it.
I’ve willed it on, watching it grow, cheering each new branch that appears over the fence line.
It’s fresh and a little cloudy out there today. A reprieve from the blistering heat that has scorched our nation. Bushfires have ravaged our landscape, killing so many of our native animals, destroying homes and lives.
For the first time, I saw my Molly Tree suffer. Her green leaves turned brown and shrivelled. Was she going to survive another blistering hot summer?
I watched on as her leaves fell off and felt a heaviness in my heart.
A few days later, I noticed a hint of green at the end of each branch. Buds of hope were pushing through. Could this be a new leaf?
Another day later, I checked again. It was more than a leaf, it looked like a cluster of leaves.
A week later, I’m looking out, and to my delight, it appears that the Molly Tree has not only made it through the last scorching chapter, but she has flourished. It’s as if she needed a real challenge to reach the next realisation of her being.
At the very peak of her tall, skinny frame is a burgeoning canopy. It’s not just a leaf here or a leaf there. A mini bush of green is forming. I can feel all the baby branches aching to stretch out and soak up the sun. From shooting up, it’s now ready to spread out.
Her little branches are mimicking the growth at the top of the tree. They’re starting to look more full, greener than they’ve ever been.
My Molly Tree has not only pulled through; she’s hinting at a promise of growing into a beautiful provider of shade and comfort for her humans in the years to come.
Through the seasons, events, celebrations and tragedies, my Molly Tree has just kept doing what trees do. She endures, grows, receives nourishment, and gives back.
The taller she grows and the wider her reach spreads, the longer the gap becomes between the days that I would watch her with and then without my beautiful Molly.
She’s provided me with a timeline for my healing. Each new day acts as a small stitch, pulling my torn heart back together again.
At the same pace as our tree’s growth, the memories of our time shared with Molly have grown into a comforting canopy of love and gratitude. For that we feel very blessed for all our yesterdays with Molly, and we hold hope for many tomorrows beneath the shade of her tree.