Literature - Guest Contributions
When the Bough Breaks (from the family tree)
by: Kris Trolinger & Jim Trolinger
(contest for Orange County Register which
involved writing a story about the painting (above) provided)
It was a cold March day when my family finally found the courage to gather
at Grandmother's house to divide a lifetime of treasures. With heavy
hearts and regrets of unspoken conversations about our family history, we
gathered in a room filled with family heirlooms representing five
generations of our family. This room that had always captured
Grandmother's spirit seemed totally different without her presence. The
energy and life of each object had vanished.
The sheer number of items to be examined, many of which were
unidentifiable, reminded us of the wealth of knowledge that had been
buried with Grandmother. The biggest void was lack of information of
Mattie Tillete, my Great Grandmother who had died when Grandmother was
four. I had heard of a golden locket, the only remaining artifact of hers,
but no one seemed to know of its whereabouts or even if it existed at all.
Hours of sorting led to a small collection of heirloom jewelry housed in a
shoebox. Beneath bracelets, necklaces, and costume jewelry, perched a
small worn golden locket. My heart raced as I picked up the locket to
examine its face. I gently rubbed it in my hands feeling an aching need to
know more about my ancestors. After careful inspection, I exploded with
excitement upon seeing the telltale letters "MT", almost invisible through
scratches.
Much to my surprise, the locket sprung open revealing yellowing pictures
of Great Grandfather and Mattie. I thought the day could not have given me
a better gift, but then, without warning, one of the pictures fell from
the locket. On the back was a fading note that simply read, "go inside the
tree of memories and dig two feet."
Approaching the timeless, hollow oak, which as my birthright I knew to be
the tree of memories, I was flooded with images of generations of children
playing in the tree. Without hesitation, I entered the musty smellingspace
within and began digging as though I feared the hidden prize might escape.
Suddenly the Earth revealed a small metal box. I raked off the remaining
dirt and lifted the box from its grave. Inside lay a thick book and a
tattered, rotting envelope.
The letter read,
“Dearest daughter, By now I have left this world. However, someday you
will understand that a mother's love can traverse the limitations of time
and death. Although I must leave you at such a young age, I am leaving you
my diary, so that you will know me as girl, woman, and a mother who loved
you and your father so very much.
Your loving Mother”
Tears streamed down my face as I realized that Grandmother had never found
her mother's diary. At that moment, a gentle breeze swept in a small
yellow butterfly who kissed my cheek and landed near the box. In a flash
of joy I realized that I had been guided to accept and treasure for her
this wonderful gift of love.