As children, do we realize what a father does? I certainly didn’t; he worked so hard but I never saw. It was a seed, just a simple seed, which he planted, hoping it would take root. He knew in his heart that it was what I needed, a tree to give comfort in this land of snow; even if I didn’t know. And so he planted this seed, and tirelessly cared for it, but the seed would never take hold. He would water it each day, but the seed needed something more. So next he tried to fertilize it, sow it with dung; for a seed needs healthy soil. But s**t only gets you so far. Perhaps it was just that a seed couldn’t grow here, out on the tundra. Few things will after all; only the Forget-Me-Nots which bloomed for a few weeks and then were forgotten. It is hard to remember such a thing in perpetual night; perpetual cold. Maybe that is why he wanted a tree?
Everyone called him mad, especially I, what sane man would try and grow something in this tundra? He didn’t even know what the seed was, it had been planted so many years ago, surely it was dead. But my father was stubborn, and refused to listen. And quietly he would tend to the seed, urging it to grow. But even stubbornness has its limits, and our confidence can break no matter how strong. And so one day, my Father couldn’t take it any more. The Scorn? The Frustration? No Fulfillment? I will never know. And so he took his life, took it while sitting next to that even more stubborn seed.
I found him like that, hunched over that spot he had guarded all these years, never leaving and never watching me, only watching the ground as if it was all that matters. His blood had soaked into the soil, and a strange look of shock within his eyes; as if not understanding why? But stranger still was the smile, a smile which had crept across his face, and still held even after his life had spilled out. I sat there for days, confused what that smile might mean. I sat there until his body began to rot, and even after his flesh was gone, I still felt that smile. And looking down, I understood. The seed had finally pierced the ground, against all odds.
And so I still visit that spot, a large tree growing where no trees can, and yet it seems as though my father’s stubbornness persists. Because unlike those flowers, this tree is the one thing I cannot forget, no matter how frigid the winter. I don’t know what he expected, or why he could smile, I may not forget, but I no longer smile; I have lost him. He may have never been there for me, but he was still a father; no matter how stubborn, a tree will never be the same.
Forget me Not.