The Light of the Memory Tree Tanya Sousa
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roubles in all shapes and sizes befell many people in 2020. “These are dark times,” a friend wrote to me. “Dark times indeed.” I wrote back. My life also had its share of challenges and darkness in the last year. What do you do when the lights go out and you temporarily lose your ability to see
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clearly? You light a candle, that’s what. Everyone’s “candle” is as individual as s/he is, but it will fall into one of many categories. I spent a lot of time in my profession as a counselor working with children who already had so much sadness that they needed to find their light in the worst way. For some of them, it was getting lost in music or in a sport. For others it was being outside, sometimes among trees, sometimes near water. Some needed the calm understanding of animals – a good cry with the St. Bernard’s head resting in the lap, or with their own heads buried in the warm safety of fur and the rhythm of breath that tells them at least something is sure. I have no doubt that your candle (at least one of them), as mine, f lickers with the beauty and souls of your dogs or cats, or rabbits, or whatever other beings share your life. Remembering back, the severity of my life in 2008 meant I needed even more than my living and beloved border collies and cats. I needed to have the presence of all the wonderful creatures that have graced my years; I searched through four decades of photo albums and pulled out the best pictures I could find of my fur-bearing guardian angels from birth to the present and gave them
to a kindred spirit who would understand what to do with them. “Sarah, I want to hire you to paint me ornaments. I need to have a memory tree this year.” I said. We discussed how I wanted them to appear. Did I want snowflakes or candles or anything seasonal in the image, she wondered? I decided against that. By having them neutral, I could use them on the Christmas tree this year and then display them in different ways at any time of year. I chose small pieces of slate as the canvas. Sarah was not only a dog trainer for most of her adult life, but she showed and bred dogs as well. Once retired, she painted dogs with the breath-taking detail of a person who knows them so well she can catch the personality of any individual dog with tiny strokes of her brush. After months of work, Sarah presented me with the images of animals that have graced my life. I have never cried with happiness before in my life, but I did when I looked on those familiar faces so beautifully portrayed by Sarah’s hand. When my family and friends gathered with me for the holidays that year, it was magical, and much of that stemmed from the Memory Tree. “That was Simba, the dog we grew up with.” My sister said, and hugged her fiancé as if in joy from a reunion. My father guided his new wife to the tree to show her another dog. “That’s Tasha.” He told her, and began telling her stories of her neverending appetite and heart that was just as vast. There were so many stories to tell. The more that were shared, the more warmth seemed to enfold us. The holidays ended, but there was no reason for the light of those candles to go out. I found other ways to display them; I can look at them every day, and they continue to help me see and hope when it seems impossible hope can be found. If a Memory Tree or Memory Ornaments sound like a good idea to you, remember they don’t have to be painted images. Make some good copies of your favorite photos and decoupage them onto plain ornaments, eggshells, or create ornaments in any other crafty way you can imagine. I’ve seen people who make memory quilts from photographs of people, so why not have a memory quilt of images of special dogs? There is power from the bracing images of those creatures that have loved us well. What is your candle in the dark? Don’t hesitate to light it. Find Tanya Sousa’s novel, “The Starling God”, her art and photography note cards and much more at Etsy.com/market/ NatureArtsExpressed Winter 2021
