After growing up during the Depression, Nana must overcome the adversity of a bad marriage while playing an important role in her niece's childhood. Nana remarries during her golden years and is finally content with a perfect life. A fatal illness strikes

Seasons of the Tree

Legacy of a Treasured SoulBy Kristin Ottolino

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2012 Kristin Ottolino
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-4744-3

Contents

Introduction..............................................xiAcknowledgements..........................................xiiiDedication................................................viiPrologue..................................................xixChapter I — The Planting............................1Chapter II — Sapling Frost..........................12Chapter III — A Time of Weeding.....................17Chapter IV — In Full Bloom..........................39Chapter V — Wilting Foliage.........................55Chapter VI — Strong Winds...........................60Chapter VII — Leaves Descend........................69Chapter VIII — Long Winter..........................76Chapter IX — Branches Bare..........................89Chapter X — Sprouting Buds..........................93About the Author..........................................03

Chapter One

The Planting

NANA WAS KNEELING AT THE edge of the rock circle in my front yard. She was planting the flowers in the middle of the circle of rocks, her hands muddy from the freshly-dug black dirt, her hair disheveled. I couldn't help but notice the dirt on her face as she wiped her brow with the back of her muddy hand. The smudge looked so out of character on her, I couldn't help but chuckle. There was no point in telling her. With the task at hand, and the outside temperature, she was just going to do it again.

"This is it. This is the place I want to be buried when I die." Nana pointed downward with the trowel, directing my attention to the spot in the shade near the twisted branches of the Harry Lauder's Walking Stick dwarf tree that Nana and my father had once given to me as a gift. "Then," Nana said with a smile, "I will always be near you and you can come here to talk to me anytime you like."

Oh, the talks we used to have. In my youth, Nana was always my mentor, my "go to" person when I needed advice. Nana was important to me, too important to lose. Nana and I would have many delightful conversations throughout my lifetime. I haven't really been out there to speak to her very much since her death. I have to admit, I do feel a little guilty about that.

Nana was my favorite aunt. Nana had two siblings, a younger brother, and my mother who was the youngest of the three. Many years after my mother's divorce from my father, and with my mother's approval, Nana married my father. Nana and my father loved to come to my house to visit.

My house is surrounded by mature trees that must have taken generations to grow. Located in such a serene setting, there is a great deal of privacy. Nana really liked the property and loved helping me with the small tasks that seemed too huge for a city girl like me to tackle, especially if it involved bugs.

I tried sitting out there once after Nana died, for a one-sided chat. I sat on the rocks that edged the circle of pastel colored flowers, but just as when I tried my hand at planting flowers, there were too many pesky insects crawling around. They made me lose my train of thought. I couldn't get Nana's advice anyway, so I would just get depressed.

Those talks were just not as productive as they used to be. Because of that, I haven't been out there as much as I had originally thought. I do occasionally walk past the rock circle and say hello. Having Nana's ashes near me and all my wonderful memories of her seems quite enough.

I never thought about Nana dying. I guess I knew it was inevitable, but I refused to think about it. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought she would live forever. Having Nana in my life was just how things were meant to be. Nana was there when I was born and I assumed she would be there all of my life. I never pictured my life without Nana. What a wake-up call I had.

It seemed like some sort of cosmic joke when Nana died. It was surreal. I felt like I was watching a movie. This could not possibly be happening to her. Nana couldn't die, she was supposed to live forever. How could this happen? I was unprepared for it. We all get sick, but Nana always recovered after a bout with illness. Mentally, I had turned her into some type of super-hero. She was bulletproof. Nothing was ever going to happen to her. In my mind she was indestructible. That didn't work out so well for me.

Nana had a plethora of health problems. Nana was, after all, seventy-eight years old. Her health had been failing for a few years before her death and grew progressively worse towards the end. Nana had both kinds of arthritis, probably from living in a cold damp house in Michigan for years.

Nana had diabetes, tumors on her spine that made it painful for her to even sit in a chair, and a heart problem as well. It was difficult for Nana to walk and she suffered a lot because she refused to take the medicine that would stop the pain. Nana would say, "The medicines make me sleep too much, and if I try to stay awake, they make me groggy." This was not how Nana wanted to live out the rest of her days.

Drugged or in pain, those were Nana's choices at the end of her life. No matter how bad the pain, Nana would not complain, ever. She no longer had to live in pain, Nana was finally at peace. What happened after her death was nothing short of miraculous. I thought her death was the end. It wasn't.

* * *

I'll never forget the day Nana's ashes were delivered to my house. A courier came to my door. I was expecting Nana's ashes to arrive, but not like this.

I am a licensed nail technician and do client's nails out of my home. Sitting at my manicure table with one of my clients, my doorbell rang. Apologizing to my client for the interruption, I answered the front door.

The delivery man handed me a box that felt heavy for its size. I had no idea what it was, but thought I had ordered something from a catalog. The courier asked me to sign for the carton. This was the norm when mail ordering. Looking down at the clipboard, I saw the origin of the package. It was from the institute where my father and I sent Nana for the donation of her organs and cremation.

What a blow. I felt as though the air had been taken from my body. My knees were weak and I clung to the doorframe for a moment. I was cradling Nana in my arms. Not in a good way either. When I instructed the institute to ship the ashes to my house, I never dreamed of a delivery such as this. I suppose I anticipated a more formal ceremony to the presentation.

I needed to maintain my composure because my client was waiting for me. The courier simply smiled and said, "Have a good day!" The messenger was way too cheerful to have known what it was he had just delivered. Thanking him, I closed the door.

There I stood in my hallway with the remains of Nana. At a loss as what to do with the box of her ashes, my blood pressure elevated and I began to shake. I was overwhelmed, and to top it off, I had a dilemma. It would be inappropriate to walk the ashes into the family room, exposing my client to such impropriety. Still, it would have been wrong to leave the ashes in the hallway. After careful consideration, I gently placed the container in my dining room on the table, out of the line of sight of my day to day living area, and my client.

Returning to my manicure table, I sat down and looked at my client. She asked, "What was that?" I couldn't believe my response to her. I told her...