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“Dad! Dad!
Come and look what I’ve found.”
“What is it, Son?”
“It’s a stone, Dad with leaves, growing in the ground.”
“A stone? Darling, stones don’t grow in the ground.”
“This one is, Dad. Come and see.”
I lean down and look at my boy’s discovery.
A smile breaks across my face and covers me.
“My darling, that’s a chestnut, my precious lad.
“Like the ones we have at Christmas, dad?”
“Exactly like that. But this one will grow.”
“What into dad? I want to know.”
“A tree my darling. It’ll grow into a tree.”
“And will it have nuts on it, Daddy?”
“Yes, son. It will. But we’ll have to wait and see.”
“Can I put it in a pot and watch it get big?”
“Of course you can. Come and help me dig.”
And he dug, my son, and planted it proudly.
Told everyone within earshot about his chestnut loudly.
The leaves sprouted strong, upright and green.
He took such care and was so, so keen.
Then, suddenly one day, my son was no longer here.
And I cried day after day, never ending tears.
I watered his tree and fed it well,
But for some reason it got ill.
Its leaves no longer strong and green,
Grew as poorly as I’d ever seen,
Until it died.
Its roots brown and rotten,
As though memories of him were being forgotten.
But it stays in the pot. Has done from then to this day.
I just can’t bring myself to throw it away.
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