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A letter from one sister to another. |
| Emilyâs Tree By Elizabeth Powell Dear Emily, I took a walk up the mountain today. The place where we used to play and run wild. I walked to the tree you loved most, and sat for awhile. I could only think of you. God, I miss you. I remember the games we used to play. We were explorers and scavengers! We dug for buried treasure and lost boys! We were everything on that mountainâŠtogether. There were no rules and no challenges of life, just us and the glories of nature. I remember the way you used to hold my hand when we would climb the steep parts and how you would catch me when I would trip over a branch or stub my toe on a rock. You were my protector, my champion, you were my everythingâŠyouâll always be my everything. You were always there but, not anymoreâŠnot anymore. You used to laugh all the time, youâd never stop. There was sunshine in your eyes and daisies in your dimples even when you were sad. We used to get in trouble for coming home so late, but we just couldnât leave that mountain, but while we got in trouble, in you I could still see the beautiful bliss that you carried and spread. I hear the trees whisper and I can almost hear your laughter. A bird flutters and Iâm almost sure its you scampering away quietly, playing a cheerful game of hide and seek. I want to run to you, look for you, I want to say âready or not here I come!â, and dash away to your playful game. Itâs not like that anymore. Your not in hiding waiting for me to come find you anymore. Today was your Birthday, but you werenât here. Youâre another year older, another year sweeter. I watched as the sun sank low over the mountains around meâŠwishing I could see your smile just one last time. You would have loved the sky. It was the colors of purple and pink, orange and yellow, everything you loved. They buried you yesterdayâŠover by the ferns. Why did you have to get sick? Why did you have to go? I canât stand to look at the mound of dirt where you lay. Thatâs not your favorite tree youâre under, its not youâre favorite place the hide that youâre laying in. The rain was coming down then, but still I sat under your tree. Emilyâs tree, thatâs what Iâll call it, Emilyâs tree. You wouldnât have wanted it any other way, Iâm sure of it. This was yours and yours alone, but this mountain was ours and youâll always be here. I never did get to say good bye, perhaps its best that way, somethingâs are just better left unsaid. Even though the day is drab and weary, I still feel your energy here. I felt the cool wind rush passed me and for a second I knew that it was your wings wrapped around me. God, I miss you . Youâre here I know you are! I want to scream out your name, call for you, âWhere are you? Where did you go? Why did you leave me?â, but the cruelest part of all is that the answers will never come. I want to yell just to yell and shout just to shout, I keep hoping it will take the pain away. I want to cry, but I canât. Thereâs too much sadness for tears, I only have solemn silence to give now. I didnât ever think that you would leave me. My darling sister, where are you? It just doesnât feel right climbing alone, even though I know youâre here, its just not right. Come back, please come back. I promise Iâll never take your things again or play tricks that sometimes make you angry. I promise I wonât, just please, please, Emily, come back! The trees became silent as the night fell, youâre sleeping now. Still I sat there, underneath your tree, Emilyâs tree. I donât think Iâll ever go back there, I donât think that I can. Thereâs too much sorrow, too much of your beauty and soul there. Iâll return just once, to leave you this letter. Iâll set it underneath your tree, I know that while your body lies elsewhere, your spirit lingers there. I know youâll always be there, right there, in Emilyâs tree. Love you always, Me. |