Ma you've always been the tree, to like everyone

With all the literature I have been blessed to read in my life, which is a lot, if you asked me what my favorite book of all time was, I would answer without hesitation and with convincing conviction, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. My Mother's once upon a time best friend Janice, gave me my own copy for my sixth birthday, it is currently on the floor at the foot of my bed, fresh and pretty, old and frayed from having just been read for it's 8,657th time ( a guesstimate.) That copy is one of my most prized possessions, if the house were burning down, I'd be scurrying about screaming at the kids. "Help me find the friggen Giving Tree" It means that much to me, it's been around and talking to me longer than most people left in my life. That boy and that tree are characters in my life story. The reason I share this trivial Deb fact with you, is that, last night as my daughter Emma read it to me while I lay next to her taking off my nail polish, a cloud of cotton balls stark on my tan stomach, my head cocked half at her, half at my toes, I had an epiphany and began to weep uncontrollably like the time I stepped on the bee in my back yard and Nana said "Now Deborah Ann, if you had you shoessss on, this never would have happened" and I thought "But Nan, God made feet bare," my feelings hurt that the bee just couldn't have let me run on by avoid all this controversy. I wept for the pain and for being so misunderstood in a world, where even Nana, just can't agree with me that God made feet bare, um duh... I wept like that. And that was some weeping, I promise you, still emotionally scarred by the bee sting insult. The reason I wept, was because I realized that I am the tree. I sat just now head on hand, deep inhale with my eyes closed and let that sink in again. The thing about that damn sweet pretty tree is that she gave everything for the happiness of the boy until she was nothing but an old stump. And then....to insult the injury, when the boy comes back an old lonely man with nothing and that tree sees him coming, well she just does what she does and straightens her little stumpy self just as tall and inviting as she can. Come boy sit. That Mother fucker straightens herself up like her moment of Glory finally come to fruition. Are you with me? I am the god damned giving tree. "I have no boat, but cut down my trunk and build one, than sail away and be happy" - Yeah you go on now with my TRUNK, don't worry about me or anything, chop it the fuck down and please, please be happy after you leave me without so much as a look back. But be happy. When I was a child, I was pissed at the little boy, grown to dip shit teenager, grown to self centered mid-life'ing man, grown to lonely bitter old crow. Pissed off that he just kept taking. I thought the tree was the most noble, gracious, generous, lovely symbol that was ever written in word and sketched on paper. I was impressed by her, wanted to grow up with all those assets hanging from my limbs. Humph, not so much today. As pissed as I am for the boy/man/crow for bleeding the tree dry, leaving only her essence behind, Today, Last night, I was more pissed off at the martyr of the story, miss apple tree in the garden of Eden. Why didn't she tell him to FUCK OFF and quit his goddamn whining? "I need money, I need a wife and kids, I need a house, I need a boat to sail the fuck away in." Boo fucking hoo. Why didn't the tree tell that asshole user that he was barking up the wrong one,even with the tree + me heart carved on my bark to boot, why didn't she say no more before her majestic scope became like six inches. A tree to a stump? The view has got to suck comparatively. And pretty quick... you are realizing that I am the real live Carrie Bradshaw . Also, that stupid selfless tree. Martyrdom. And that folks is an ugly truth about me. Sigh. when Brian came in the room, I told him, I realized something just now.... He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Emma and I, as I took the book and began to read it, my turn. Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy....The tears flew down my face, the metaphor there too real even for a realist of my caliber. Somewhere in the middle, I saw Brian's eyes well. And the tree was happy..... (but not really) When I closed the book, mopped up my face with my sheet, Brian said "Ma, you've always been the tree (pause) to like everyone." And there my friends you have it. And you know what? I am the most glorious bad ass tree there is and I want to stay a tree. Shed my leaves every fall in a blaze of death glory so that I can bloom again next Spring, bigger and better, more vibrant, more spectacular, more refined and scenic with every go round. you think my flowers are pretty now? Try me next Spring after another years view from way up here. I have lost my admiration of her sacrifice, and for that, the book has turned equivalent to the family bible in my mind. I may just start sleepin with it under my pillow in case of fire. I am a tree with strong roots, sure they twist about below the surface tangled and deep, almost suffocating the soil, but no matter the temptation, I will NOT become a stump to make anyone a boat to sail away in, unless their name is Kevin, Brian , Emma or Matthew. Watch me the fuck now.