The Plum Tree

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

Bloom where you’re planted, Oma always said. But Christine’s roots were restless, wondering what it would be like in more fertile soil.

It can be difficult to grow in a constant state of same

“When we’re together,” he whispered, “we’ll only see each other, not the ugliness around us.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you miss working at his house and seeing him. But you’ve got to forget about him.”

Hypocritical and assuming.

Laughter reached Christine’s ears, and for a fraction of a second, she imagined she was getting used to the heavy ache of loss anchored to her heart.

Time helps ease pain and as it ‘goes away’ we strengthen and grow from it.

Sleep was an escape,

“I still love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I always will.”

She could almost imagine that nothing had changed, but what her eyes recognized as familiar, and what she felt deep within her heart and soul, were two very different things. She took a deep breath, trying to breathe in the fragrance of the pines and the fresh air that used to lift her spirits and make her feel so alive, but it had no effect. She sat there seeing but not feeling, existing but not living.

“The first time I saw the crematorium, I wanted to enter the chambers with them. But then I realized I’m a witness to their murders. If I’m alive when this is over, I’ll be able to tell the world what really happened here.” She didn’t know how, or even if, she should respond. He had to be lying; otherwise, how could he stand there and let this happen?

“For some who are committing these evil crimes, and for those of us who allow it to happen, the reality of what we are doing is obscured by the furious turnings of war.”

So that’s how it happens, she thought. I’ll get distracted by life. The wounds will be covered by pleasant moments, moments that I used to take for granted. Hopefully, the pleasant moments will become more frequent, and longer lasting. Because if I keep living in the past, I won’t survive.