It’s the only home Georgia has ever lived in, and the only home Penny has any memories of. When I recall my own childhood, my earliest memories are from the age of three and four years old. That means, most likely, my oldest daughter will always remember this apartment, and the joy she had here.
We have spent two and a half years here laughing, crying, and living our perfectly imperfect lives.
This home has seen my depression, my anxiety, and the death of my brother. It has held my tears and my sorrow.
It has seen so many happy memories too, way too many to count. We have hosted friends, and had sleepovers with family. Our daughters have played, wrestled, snuggled, and danced within the walls of our home.
This week I have relived many of the happy memories, trying to embrace my final days here, trying to hold on to the early years of motherhood that I enjoyed and endured.
And then, like a tiny gift from this little home of ours, my husband and I discovered a tree in our backyard. Somehow, in the busyness of life I had never taken the time to identify the summer berries that grew on the tree, and fearing they may be poison I never tried to taste them.
After asking some friends and taking some photos of the tree and berries, I realized they were nutrient dense and sweetly flavoured mulberries. My husband reminded me that we would be moving soon, and since the berries were still green, we would likely never get to try them.
I was discouraged, because I knew that picking mulberries from a tree would be a wonderful way to make some final memories with Penny and Georgia, and I wanted to taste the sweet fruit.
Yesterday, while playing outside in the hot summer heat, I sat for a moment on our deck and took in the beauty of our backyard. I looked over at the mulberry tree, and my eyes grew wide in delighted surprise.
Some of the fruit had ripened, and there were many berries on the tree that were dark purple and perfect to eat!
I jumped up and grabbed a bowl, shouting to the girls to come quick. We spent the next twenty minutes quietly picking mulberries, our fingers stained a deep purple. Penny, our picky eater, was delighted by the sight of the fresh fruit, and ate handfuls of the berries eagerly.
We picked another bowl of berries for our landlords, and Penny excitedly delivered them. For the rest of the day we talked about the mulberries in the mulberry tree, and how fun it was to pick our own food.
At night I said a silent prayer of gratitude. For this home and all it had given us, for my family, who is my true home and safe haven, and for the mulberry tree. I gave thanks for its final gift of ripe fruit, and the sweet memories we now had picking and tasting its flavourful fruit.
Just like I have packed up my household belongings, today I will spend some time carefully packing up the memory of the mulberry tree, and keeping it safely in my heart, where I will always remember the final gift it gave me.
