When Connor passed, we asked people to plant trees in his honor, and many did. I wish I could see all the trees in person, and maybe one day I will.
My friend Anne from high school is an Arborist and designer. She planted a tree in Islamorada, Florida in Connor's honor. I've seen Anne maybe once since high school - at our 20th Reunion, but she didn't hesitate to plant that tree.
And she clearly did it just right, because last week on the anniversary of his passing, she sent me this picture and told me that the tree, still quite young, somehow managed to survive Hurricane Irma, which went right through the Keys. It survived 130 MPH winds and flooding. It is resilient. Just like he was.
We were told he was unlikely to make it to his 2nd birthday, maybe not his first. He made it almost to his 10th.
We were told he was unlikely to be able to continue eating on his own. He never once had a feeding tube.
We were told he was unlikely to have any capacity for holding his own weight, and while he never stood solo, we have a few photographs of him sitting with no assistance and no strapping. Just him and his abs.
He was the very definition of resilient.
Many people think that Lee and I are resilient ones - we advocated and cared for him, we continued building our family, we took each blow with as much grace as we could muster. But none of that would have been possible for even ten minutes without everyone around us who helped in myriad ways. I think all of us are more resilient than we think. As long as we keep talking to each other, and more importantly, hearing each other.
Keep growing, little tree. Someday, hopefully soon, I'll come see you and bring some of the soil from Connor's garden down for you, so you can add his resilience to yours.
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