My parents planted a small tree for me on a hill the day I came into existence...
They did the same for my sisters. It meant something to them, I think. I'm not entirely sure why they did it. Maybe so we could watch it grow with us. Mine was a weeping willow, and it was beautiful. I loved reading in its shade. I felt like it could understand me more than anyone in the world. We had a connection since the first day. We went through everything together. First friend, first crush, first kiss, first heartbreak, first panic attack...
I married my first husband in front of my tree, then my second. I introduced my first, second, third, fourth and fifth child to it. It witnessed my entire life and lived it with me. In winter, when the heavy snow and ice put their weight on it and make the branches bend, I teared up. I could feel a weight on my shoulders. I could feel its pain.
When I turned 60, everything fell apart. The leaves wouldn't grow back. My friend, my twin, my soulmate! It was dead, my oldest son chopped it down, and everything went downhill after that. I was diagnosed with dementia and slowly started losing myself. A part of me had died with my willow tree...
I was sitting in a wheelchair, pushed by some guy who told me he was my son, he showed me pictures and told me he visited me last week, but I couldn't recall ever seeing him. I was like a child who didn't know anything. I looked around me as we slowly went by a ton of houses. None of them were familiar to me. Then he stopped on an empty hill. Something felt wrong. What am I doing here?
-Son, where's my willow tree? I asked in a moment of lucidity.
-Its ashes are buried where It used to be, he answered.
My friend, my twin, my soulmate...
Soon enough, we will finally be reunited, I'm certain. Until then, I love you, I miss you and most importantly...
I will destroy the man who buried you six feet underground. It's him, isn't it?
My son...
