Writing in Cadence

There is a familiar aroma wafting through the air as I walk towards this tree. Every hated memory comes rushing back as I stop to breath in the sweet smells that are connected to my childhood. I once read that memories can be linked to many things: sounds, smells, textures; these can recall the buried thoughts of the subconscious. While I have little reason to doubt, I am still amazed that a smell I enjoy so much can pull me back to such a despised time in my life. And there you are, sitting among the branches. You’re unavoidable, aren’t you? Dad told me you wanted me to call you before I went away on my second deployment. You knew I wouldn’t. Looking back, I should have. That deployment broke the child you tried to, but he learned to rise after the fall. Maybe you should have seen your son standing tall on his own. Standing up after the beatings. Standing up after the abandonment. I stand now, even if I need this cane. Is that good enough for you? Or do you continue to look down on me from the high perch of your tree? The tree ensures there is distance between us. The tree that is so welcoming, that smells so sweet, is the distance we need to live together in this painful world. I ask you to watch, mother. Watch silently from the distance you created. This tree grew from the seeds you planted.