Breaks My Heart

I have always had a sentimental attachment to my trees. We were so proud that our Pin Oak in the front yard and the Ash in the back were two of the prettiest and tallest in the neighborhood. I used to turn the corner onto our street in the fall and look at the

splendid colors coming from them,

and it just made me feel good.

Our Ash tree, in the backyard, succumbed this year, to a infestation that hit many in our area. It wasn't long before it was just a sad, pathetic sight. We knew it had to come down before it fell on our house or our neighbors'.

I restrained myself from locking my arms around it and forbidding them to take it down. Instead, I just watched from my bedroom window with tears in my eyes.
That's not a woodpecker! It's a man, taking the tree down all by himself! I was terrified for him, because if something happened to him, I would have to save him!

Boy, would he be in trouble!
I think the reason it was so painful is because so many moments in our lives have been shared with this tree. We have been in this house 26 years. Megan is 28, and Kim is 26. This was their playground while growing up. Under that very tree, they had their picture taken with their first dog. It's where I set up their little blow-up pool, to protect them from the sun. It's where their swing-set sat. It's where confirmation pictures were taken, and then prom. As they grew up, so did that tree. It kept the backyard shaded and cool while we grilled on the patio. It's where the birds nested in the birdhouses my father-in-law made for me. And where the squirrels (I named them Stumpy, who we believe had a run-in with a hawk, and Rusty), entertained me at the kitchen window, while I washed dishes.
Now it's all gone, but the memories.
It breaks my heart.