To Everything a Season
I never thought eBay would contribute to my grieving journey, but then I’d never heard about Mourning Seeds until my browser history and poor privacy settings conspired to start suggesting products I might want every time I opened a browser window.
I closed ad after ad (Cribb’s Funeral Services; Eco-coffins; even EZ-Cremain – American, naturally), but the day I finally felt strong enough to auction off my dearly departed’s belongings, something about the eBay advert – perhaps the word ‘seed’ – made me click.
Plant at least four feet deep over the loved one’s grave (in this case, the loved three’s) and as the tree grows, so will the memory of he/she who is lost.
No returns once planted…etc, etc, etc
A tattered, manilla banker was delivered. Not exactly what I’d expected – no branding, no exquisite, environmentally unfriendly packaging, just the envelope containing three things like peach stones.
Did I deserve to be ripped off? Probably. I certainly deserved something. I treated my wife and kids terribly: If I could take back every beating I gave Gracie and Michael I would; if I could show Nat just how much I cared with my lips instead of my fists; if I could hide the car keys from my drunken self on our way back from Elgin last Christmas…
If I could un-click Buy Now.
But I couldn’t.
A time to plant, a time to pluck up that which is planted. A time to harvest.
Daily I pick – remove – the wailing green fruit on each of the little trees I planted: Gracie, Michael and Nat’s hairless, miniature, green heads – like apples – gawp soullessly outwards, jaws dropped to better birth their screaming, screaming, screaming.
There’s only one way to silence the eternal accusations.
The flesh is sweet from such a bitter crop.