The boy asked his grandfather, “Where do trees come from?“
The grandpa looked at his boy sternly, and replied, “Son, that is not a tale for the faint of heart.“
“I am old enough!“, The small boy replied.
So the grandfather sighed and sat down on the bench they were passing through the park. His gaze lingered on the Family having a picnic on a quilted blanket with white wicker basket. “The trees are the fingers of the damned.“
“What!“ Said the boy. “That cannot be true!“ The leaves are so beautiful, and the trees are so strong, and I love to climb them so much. They feel so much like home!“
“Often such things do my boy. But it is also true.“
The boy sat for a minute stunned by this revelation. He looked about at the trees and marveled at their fingers. “How can this be be?” said quietly.
“Well,” said the grandfather, “it’s not all the damned. Only certain ones get the honor.“
“The honor?” Ask the boy.
“Yes,“ Said the grandfather,“ only certain people are allowed for their fingers to become trees. See, all wish to go to heaven, and some wish just return to earth to escape the tears they see every day. But there is a middle ground, and those are the trees.
“Long ago an old woman passed away. Now she had become a cruel and calloused old woman. Only her granddaughter held any affection for her. This is remarkable in itself! For the grandmother has been equally cruel to her. But the granddaughter was kind, with an incredibly compassionate heart. More so, she understood the reason for her grandmother’s cruelty.
“It was not her grandmother‘s nature to be cruel, but an outcome of circumstance and choice. Years before there had been a terrible fire in which the grandmother’s son and his wife (the girl’s mother and father) were killed terribly. Of course, after this, both grandmother and granddaughter were racked with sorrow. However their paths took very different turns.
“The granddaughter grew and compassion for those who also lived in this world carrying such a great sorrow. The grandmother on the other hand, became bitter, carrying her pain as if she were the only one in the world who knew such a thing. In many ways she was not wrong! For truly her pain was her own, for she was the only mother of her son after all. But, this bitterness lead to poor decisions, decisions that hurt others, and continued to darken the steps of the grandmother.
“All the while the granddaughter grew more compassionate, including towards her own grandmother. She saw her pain. No matter how mean the grandmother grew, the granddaughter always knew the source of the tears. With her grandmother, the tears became her own, and she inwardly wept day and night for her grandmother.
“Now at this time, the world had no trees. The tallest growth was only bushes! A human standing upright could see for miles and miles in any direction (for there were yet to be any tall buildings either). When the old woman finally passed on, the granddaughter’s inward tears at last left her body. She cried so hard and for so long mourning the loss of her last family member, that’s her tears sunk deep into the earth.
“The tears reached her grandmother’s heart, and she reached up yearning to drawl her granddaughter in brace to comfort her in the moment, and as an apology for all of the years. The gods above saw this, and were deeply moved. For even they had given up on the grandmother, and deeply loved the girl who had become one of the most caring beings to ever live. They could not, however, release the grandmother. For the choices of the grandmother were her own, and could not be reversed for neither can time.
“Instead they let her fingers reacher up through the earth, nurtured by her own granddaughters tears. When they reach the air above we continue to grow strong and provide shade above her curled granddaughter still weeping. Her branches bloomed into beautiful flowers whose leaves drifted upwards towards the heavens.
“Thus, the gods struck a deal with the steward of the underworld. Those who truly repented in the midst of their torment, would be allowed to stretch their fingers up to the earth. They could never fully re-join the tortured world above them, but they could reach and point to the gods above reminding those who still had time to keep their gaze fixed skyward and live a better life.
“The damned would also continue their torment. Every winter their fingers will be forced to become brittle and to bend with the wind, sometimes even break under the strain. Then, every spring they would be allowed to bloom and live even if in a small way. Thus, those who are damned, could still find redemption, and the gods could keep their word.”
The boy sat silent. “Are any of these trees grandma‘s fingers?“
The grandfather sat still quietly.
“I’ve often wondered that myself.“ He said softly. “Sadly, while I like to think she is in a far better place. One person can never truly know the heart of another. We are allowed to know so much, and to influence far more, yet we will never get get to know that final moment. Still, every once in a while when I see trees waving in the wind, I think of your grandma’s eternal optimism, and think how even though she’s in a period where her fingers might be brittle she still waves defiantly, encouraging me during the dark days.”
“Can we have ice cream now?” The boy asked snapping from his reverie.
“Of course.”
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