As you may or may not know, my parents died while working in Tunis, Tunisia. My father was the principal of an American international school and my mother was a third-grade teacher.
A month after they died, the school planted two olive trees on campus in their memory. It was a lovely gesture and my sister, husband and I were to attend the dedication ceremony. I often think about those trees, what they symbolize and how they came to be.
Two months later, my husband worked with our gardener to find an olive tree for our backyard and gave it to me as a Christmas gift. It is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received. I love that tree and enjoyed watching it flourish.
Two years and a baby later, my husband opened his own car dealership and we moved.
The tree was one of the things I was most worried about because we weren’t going to take it with us. Until we got settled in a new city, we would be renting. Mercifully, the gentleman that bought our house said the olive tree could stay until we purchased a new home.
This past February, the new owner changed his mind, got a puppy who enjoys digging at the tree and decided he wanted to do something else with the yard space that has become my tree’s home.
My husband reached out to our old gardener and other tree removal companies and a couple of weekends ago with the help of a good friend, relocated my tree to the backyard of our rental home.
It looks a lot different; sad, completely traumatized and barren, but we are hopeful that it will hang in there and someday flourish again.