Spirits in the Forest

Annabelle had always been an unusual child: smart, yes - perhaps even gifted. Certainly she was creative. Naturally happy and gregarious. And she could run like a rabbit when she had a mind to.

One of my favorite pictures is of her as a baby, big blue eyes wide, staring back at the camera as if to say, ‘What the hell you lookin’ at?′ It amazed me sometimes - how aware she’d always seemed, even as an infant; as if she’d emerged from my womb eyes open, ready for anything.

When mom died suddenly, it left us all in shock. Annie was seven then. I wasn’t sure if she understood as I tried to explain that yes, we were going to live in grandma’s house but no, she wasn’t going to be there. Annie had been at the funeral of course, and she had placed the first flower in the grave when mom’s ashes were interred. But did she understand? I didn’t know. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

One day, about two weeks after the funeral, she and I were out walking. Though she seemed happy and energetic enough, she was unusually quiet as we walked around the neighborhood together. At some point I looked over at her. Her eyes were focused straight ahead.

I gently put my hand on her shoulder. “Do you miss grandma?”

Annabelle didn’t look at me, but just kept walking. She shook her head. I rubbed her back softly before removing my hand.

“I do,” I said quietly. “I think about her every day.”

We walked on for a while in silence.

A couple of weeks later I was able to get the whole family together again to fulfill one of mom’s wishes; it was something she’d told me when I was a teenager, and I’d never forgotten it: she’d said that when she died, she’d like some of her ashes scattered in the forest behind our house. I had made sure to have some set aside for this purpose, and when the day came, I transferred the ashes into a teacup, which was to serve as the urn.

It rained most of the day, and we all worried that our little ceremony would have to wait for another time. But in the late afternoon the rain stopped, and the skies cleared enough that the sun was able to penetrate the clouds at intervals. I knew it was going to be a beautiful sunset.

I went to get the urn and called everyone outside. We walked to the back of the yard and through the gate. The ground just beyond was steep and slippery, and we carefully made our way down the short slope, where we found ourselves immediately in thick foliage. Drops of moisture beaded on the leaves and fell to the ground with a soft pit-a-pat. Sunlight shone intermittently through the trees, illuminating the thin mist in random dancing patterns.

The mosquitoes were biting and everyone was getting wet, so we kept it brief. I said a few words to mom. I wondered if she could see us as we stood there. No way of knowing. But in my mind I saw her very well. And I wanted Annie to see her, to never lose sight of her, to always remember...

I finished what I had to say and then stepped away a few feet, toward an area lit by a thin row of sunbeams. I shot my arm out and flicked my wrist sharply, and the ashes flew out into the air. The ash hung suspended in the air, suddenly illuminated in the sunlight. The silver cloud of ash diffused and blew away on the slight breeze, like a ghost passing through the bush. I dug a small hole in the earth with my trowel and buried the teacup, covering it thoroughly with earth and leaves. Then we all walked back up into the yard.

Over the next couple months, I didn’t press Annie about her grandma. I kept a sharp eye on my daughter though; in the absence of overt displays, I watched carefully for signs that her grief might be manifesting in other, more unconscious ways. At times I’d catch myself being unduly irritable and impatient with her, and with some shame I’d think, ‘Better keep an eye on yourself too, kiddo...’

Then one afternoon, quite out of the blue, Annabelle came into the kitchen as I was making bread, and announced, “I wanna take some food to the woods, to leave for grandma...”

Surprised as I was, I just shrugged and reached into the cupboard. “Here - take this,” I said. I handed her a bag of peanuts mixed with raisins. She took it with a smile, and ran out the back door and down into the forest.

The next day, Annie went back to the woods. She soon returned home in a state of elation: “Mommy! She took it! She took the food!”

I smiled at her. “Of course, honey - I knew she would. She musta been hungry, hey?”

“I think so. But I didn’t give her that much - because she’s small. I’ll give her some more tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” I said with a grin, and tousled her hair before she took off on her next mission.

The following afternoon, Annie came to me and tugged my sleeve. “Mommy, wanna come with me to feed grandma?” She pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “I’ll show you where I leave it...”

“Sure, Baba - let’s go.” We went out and walked to the back of the yard. She took my hand as we entered the forest, and with exaggerated stealth led me through the trees to her special place.

We came upon a small clearing. We stepped over the trees that had fallen long ago and were now soggy, hollow things, covered in moss and fungus, and emitting the unmistakable yet not entirely unpleasant aroma of their decay.

Annie pointed across the clearing. “Over there..!”

She led me to an area near where the trees began to grow thick again, and pointed to a small stump with some new leaves sprouting from its moss-laden bark. The center of the stump formed a rough bowl shape, and I watched as Annie opened the bag and plucked out a few each of the raisins and the nuts, and laid them carefully in the shallow depression.

“Now we have to go,” she whispered. She took my hand again and led me back the way we’d come. We paused at the clearing’s entrance and looked back toward the stump. After a moment she said, “When do you think she comes? In the daytime or at night?”

“I don’t know, Annie... That’s tough to say... Whenever she’s hungry, I guess...”

“Let’s wait and see if she comes... We gotta be really quiet...”

“Wait..? Honey, I can’t - I have work to do. But tomorrow’s Saturday - we can wait all day tomorrow, hey? Whaddaya say?”

“Just for a few minutes, ’kay? Let’s see...”

“Okay.”

We stood as still and quiet as possible, and waited. We waited five minutes. Then ten. All we saw were a couple of squirrels, a bluejay, and some other small birds. We heard a woodpecker off in the distance. At some point Annie whispered, “The trees sound just like the wind...” I put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

We stood there a few more minutes, then I took her hand and nodded in the direction of the house. “We’ll come back tomorrow...” She gave me a little nod and a smile, and we walked back through the woods toward home.

The next day, as promised, I set out with Annie again for the clearing. She was delighted to find that the food she’d left was now gone, and she was eager to restock the bowl with more nuts and raisins. We went back across the clearing and found a place to sit. Annabelle had reminded me to bring along the binoculars, and she soon had them out of their case and put to use.

She focused them on the stump. “Nothing’s coming... I can’t see anything...”

“Baba, it’s only been two minutes!” I replied with a chuckle.

Annabelle was way ahead of me though: she had already removed her attention from the stump, and was busy looking at everything else through the binoculars.

“There’s a bird! ..Oh, now it’s gone...” She turned the binoculars on me. “Wow! you’re so big, mommy!” she said as she laughed. I laughed along with her, and she turned the binoculars backwards and looked through them again. “And now you’re sooo small..!!”

“Hahaha!! ..You look like an alien!”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “So do you!” She looked out over the clearing, making little robot doot-doot-doot sounds as she swept the binoculars around to find a new target. She giggled. “I can see the ants...”

What a weird kid.

I laughed out loud. “Yeah right - as if you could see ants with it backwards!”

Annabelle was undeterred, and she continued gazing through the binoculars as she laughed. “I can see them! They’re just way smaller now...”

“Heeheehee... God, you’re funny sometimes...”

We sat there a long while, talking about the plants and birds we saw, playing I spy, and nibbling on the food we’d brought.

“Don’t eat all of it, mommy - we gotta keep some for grandma!”

I laughed and put my arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, right! Don’t you eat all of it, little monkey!”

Then a flash of movement caught my eye, and I quietly said, “Annie! I think I see something, at the stump! Have a look through the binoculars...”

She grabbed the binoculars and peered through them. A few seconds later, a large squirrel darted over the edge of the bowl. Even without the binoculars it was easy for me to spot its fuzzy grey form as it rummaged in the food. Annabelle watched for a moment before she cried, “Hey! That’s not for you! That’s for grandma!” She stood and hurried over to the stump, shouting “Shoo! Shoo!” as she went.

The squirrel finally raced away as Annabelle approached the stump. She looked into the bowl, then brought her fists down to her sides as she stomped the ground. “He got almost all of it!”

I walked over to her and said, “Hey, honey - that’s okay... I’m sure the squirrel really enjoyed it... And you remember how grandma was all about sharing, right? I don’t think she’d mind...”

“Yeah, but now we gotta put more food in... And what if the squirrel gets it again?” she said, clearly distressed at the problem confronting us.

“Well, we can’t just sit here all day and all night, trying to protect grandma’s food... Maybe we just put more in? Lots and lots - more than a squirrel can eat. Then there’d be some left for grandma too - whaddaya think?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

‘Christ,’ I thought, ‘this kid watches too much TV...’

We refilled the stump with the rest of the raisins and nuts, and went back to our seats at the opposite edge of the clearing. Again we waited for a long time, yacking about this and that, trying to invent new games to play, and making up songs off the top of our heads.

Eventually we saw two smaller red squirrels come up to check out the food. They were soon chased away by a big grey, which may have been the one we’d seen earlier. After a while it had had enough and disappeared back into the underbrush. Annabelle was anxious to go over and inspect, but I assured her: “Honey, just sit tight... That big bully didn’t get it all... Let’s watch...”

Annabelle calmed herself and sat back down. After a while she broke out the binoculars again and focused her attention on the stump. A couple of minutes later she exclaimed, “The red ones are back! See them?!” She pointed frantically toward the stump.

“Yes, I see them, honey..! They’re so cute, hey?”

She giggled as she watched them through the binoculars. “Heehee, yeah... I love them..!” We watched silently for a moment. “It’s okay guys,” said Annie, “you can have some... But remember to leave some for grandma...”

Just then I saw a moving shape out of the corner of my eye. I looked up to my left and saw a great horned owl as it silently detached itself from its branch and swept down into the clearing toward the stump. Since she was looking through the binoculars, Annabelle didn’t see it until it hit the squirrel.

There was a quick, violent bustle of fur and feathers, and the squirrel shrieked once as the owl broke its neck and then began to eviscerate the poor creature. Annabelle shrieked as well and dropped the binoculars on the ground.

“No..! No!!” she cried, as she leapt up from her seat. I instinctively pulled her back to me and held her tightly as she wailed. The owl soon took flight again and carried the squirrel up to a high branch to finish its feeding. It took a while to console Annabelle. I sat there with my arms around her as she wept over the cruel world.

After a while I lifted her chin up and began to wipe her face clean. I brushed the last few tears from her cheeks. “Why did that have to happen, mommy?”

Ask a simple question...

“Well, Annie, that big old owl has to eat too...”

My answer clearly did not satisfy her. “..Can we go home now..?”

A little before noon the next day I was sitting on the sofa reading, when Annabelle walked in and plunked herself down beside me. She sat there in silence as I finished my chapter.

“..I saw grandma last night...”

I looked over at her. Annie was gazing out the window into the back yard. “Oh, yeah?” I replied, “Where did you see her?”

“..She was in my room...”

I took her hand and pulled her closer to me. She snuggled in under my arm. “Well that’s something... Are you sure you weren’t dreaming, Baba?”

After a moment she replied, “No... I wasn’t dreaming... I was having a dream... about butterflies... A big sunny field... full of butterflies... I was chasing them... But I couldn’t catch them... Then I stopped... And I held my arms out, like this... And they started landing on me...” She smiled, and her eyes were far away. “And then I spun around...” She giggled. “..And all the butterflies took off, like a whirlwind... And then I woke up... And grandma was there, sitting beside me on the bed...”

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I brushed a tear from my eye. I hugged my daughter and stroked her hair. Finally I said, “Were you scared, Baba?”

“Of course not,” Annie replied, as though the question was absurd. “It was grandma - why would I be scared?”

We sat silent for a moment gazing out the window.

“So, what did she look like?”

Annie furrowed her brow. “She looked like grandma, obviously - whaddaya think?”

“..Hmmm... Did she talk to you?”

“No... She can’t talk... She doesn’t need to....”

“And then what happened?”

“She just sat there beside me, looking at me.”

“Was she smiling?”

“..Yes... You couldn’t really see it... But yeah, she was smiling... I could tell... And she was glowing... Like, blue... And I could kinda see through her... I was just lying in bed, looking back at her... After a few minutes I sat up, and I reached out and took her hand... Her hand was warm... We just sat there for a while, holding hands... Then I got tired and laid down again... She just put her hand on my leg, until I fell asleep... I wanted to go back to the butterflies... But I didn’t have any more dreams after that....”

That evening I made spaghetti and meatballs - grandma’s recipe, and one of our favorites. Later on we played monopoly and the little brat crushed me - she’s always so lucky with the dice. Annabelle drank ginger-ale, and I polished off the bottle of wine I’d opened at dinner.

Annie reached for my glass. “Can I try it?”

“No, Annie, not this. You won’t like it anyway.”

“Please? Just a sip? One little one? Pleeease?”

“Oh, alright. Just one - a little one... I said a little one..!”

Annie coughed and sputtered, and screwed her face up as though she’d eaten a lemon. “Nice one, Poindexter,” I said as I rubbed her back. “Lemme guess - you didn’t like it..?”

“Uggh... No! I hate it!”

I gave her a smug grin. “Told’ja.”

..At least it might help her sleep...

It certainly didn’t hurt. It wasn’t too long after that I was able to persuade Annabelle to get her lazy butt up the stairs and into bed. I climbed in beside her, and held her until she fell asleep.

“..Mommy..? I miss grandma... I wonder if she’ll come back... I hope she does...”

I gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ll just have to wait and see, dear,” I said. “Maybe she just came back... To tell you she’s alright... To let you know not to worry... So don’t worry, Baba... Maybe she’ll come and visit you again... Maybe you’ll see her in your dreams sometime...”

“..I hope she comes to the field...” Annie closed her eyes and began to drift off. “..So I can show her all the butterflies....”

The next day I went to the clearing alone, with a handful of nuts and raisins. Sun rays slanted through the trees, and I stopped briefly to gaze with reverence at the magical spot where we’d scattered mom’s ashes only a few months before. It felt like forever ago - a gulf so unbridgeable between then and now that it seemed the past was a parallel universe or a dream, rather than my own life’s history. I said a few words to my mother, expecting no response other than the birdsong and the gentle wind in the trees - which was indeed the answer that came.

I continued down the rough trail to the clearing and walked across to the stump. I knelt and peered at the fragile young shoots and flowers that had sprung up from their footholds in the rotting bark. The world around me was very quiet. I heard the distinct buzz of a bumblebee and turned my head to see it fly through the clearing and into the trees several yards away.

I turned back to the stump and reached into my pocket. I carefully began to place the raisins and nuts in a circle, alternating them as I went. Then I took a raisin and a peanut, gave them a kiss, and placed them together in the middle of the circle. I looked down at my offering in the bowl of the stump and smiled with satisfaction. I glanced around me - all was still. I got to my feet and looked down at my little circle once more. I turned and walked back to the entrance. I found a suitable log, and sat down... And waited...

I don’t know how long I sat there for, but it was a while. I thought of mom. I thought about Annie, this incredible kid who had lost her grandma... Her best friend... Did she even really know she was gone? I worried about her. The whole thing had been almost too much for me to bear - as an adult, with life experience, and tools to communicate. She had been my best friend too. But I knew the only way out of it, - well, not out of it; you never get out of it, - the only way through it, the only way to deal with it, was to grieve. Try to run from your emotions, and they will hunt you down. I knew this, and I knew I was facing my grief with courage, eyes open, feeling everything. There had been entire afternoons when I’d just lain in bed, paralyzed. How was a little kid supposed to deal with this? At times I wondered if Annie was retreating into her imagination too much.

Then I heard mom’s voice in my head. It was a spontaneous thing that came unbidden: although I’d ‘talked’ to her from time to time since she’d died, often as not, no response had come to mind. But now her voice was clear inside my head, as unmistakable as if she’d been standing right beside me: “We are resilient...” Then I thought I heard her say: “Trust...” but maybe it was just the wind in the trees.

The enchantment passed, and I was alone again in the silence. I sat there for a while longer, and finally detected a rustling of leaves in a tree near the stump. I waited a moment, then remembered my binoculars. I took them out of my knapsack and focused them on the tree.

Soon I saw a chipmunk appear on the tree trunk, clinging easily to the bark with all four feet as it peered straight down the trunk. I could see it clear and large through the binoculars, and I giggled at the silly thing as it clung impossibly to the tree. It surprised me a moment later as it spun in an instant and darted back up the trunk until it was lost out of sight among the leaves.

A few seconds later it came speeding back down the tree all the way to the ground, with another chipmunk close behind. They disappeared in the underbrush, and I stood up in reflex to try to catch sight of them again. I waited a moment, and then I saw one of the creatures poke its head out over the top of the stump. Its little head darted back and forth as it sniffed the air. Then it quickly scampered over the rim, and the other one shot over it too, and they began to inspect the raisins and the nuts.

I laughed with delight as the chipmunks had their way with the food I’d left them. After a moment I put the binoculars aside and watched the tiny creatures as they bobbed up and down and shot back and forth among the nuts and raisins. I looked up into the trees, suddenly apprehensive that a hawk or an owl might be nearby. I stood thus for several minutes, until finally the chipmunks had finished their snack and dealt with the leftovers, and eventually scurried away, I supposed - at least I couldn’t see them anymore.

I stood for another moment in the perfect quiet of the clearing. I breathed deep, drinking in the cool forest air. “Just as it should be,” I said quietly, then I turned and walked back up the trail.

That evening Annabelle asked if we could watch a movie together.

“Sure kiddo - what movie you wanna see?”

“Let’s watch ‘Babe’.”

“Sure honey,” I said, “that’s an excellent choice.”

As the movie began, Annabelle turned to me and said, “I wish grandma was here... This is one of her favorites...” I smiled and thought: ‘I know, kid... I know...’

I held my daughter close. “She is here, Baba... She’ll always be here...” I laid my hand on her heart. “And she’ll always be inside you... In your memories... All the good times you had... All the things you learned from her - and she from you... Those things never go away, dear... You know how she used to live in this house, and you had to come all the way over here to see her? ..Well, now she’s not just here anymore - she’s everywhere, honey... In the trees... The sky...”

“Okay, shush now - the movie’s starting.”

The movie turned out to be the perfect choice - or the worst choice, depending on how you look at it. By the end of it, Annabelle was cuddled up beside me fast asleep, and I was sobbing and blowing my nose.

I turned off the TV and scooped Annie up into my arms as she slept. ‘You’re almost too big for this, kiddo,’ I thought, as I lugged her up the stairs. I carried her into her room. It had been grandma’s room before, and mine before that. I laid her gently in the bed and pulled the covers over her. I bent down to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Baba,” I whispered.

I closed her door silently and went to get ready for bed. I walked to what had been my parents’ old room, and climbed into the bed they had once shared, so long ago. I looked at their wedding portraits smiling across the room at each other... My father’s paintings on the walls... They were both indeed everywhere. They were all around me.

I don’t go to bed with thoughts like this every night. Obviously the last few days had had a lot to do with it. I normally don’t like to indulge in nostalgia - it’s so often useless. And sometimes it’s just really hard. It certainly doesn’t help my insomnia.

I lay awake for hours thinking about mom and dad, and my little Annie. I thought about the house - my childhood home. It would go too, one day. And if the kind ghost of my mother ever did happen to walk through that forest, we wouldn’t be there to see her. But I smiled as I thought of some child who might live here, years from now, and might one day chance to see an ephemeral glow in the trees just beyond the fence. A shining wonder... A ghost that emanated no fear - only the soft, warm light of love...

“..But I SAW it..!!”

“..Oh, sweetheart, you’re so funny... It was just the sunlight through the leaves... It’s always so pretty after it rains...”

At last I got so fed up that I started counting sheep. I counted well over a thousand sheep, then gave up, and started counting butterflies. I tried to count them, anyway - but soon there were too many. I lay as still as I could, until they began to settle on my arms and torso. But it was impossible - the butterflies were landing on me faster than I could count. I started to visualize them in groups of ten, and began to count them that way. There were still too many - the faster I counted, the faster they appeared. I began to giggle like a little girl. Then with a great flourish of my arms, I shooed them all away, and they flew up and all around me in an endless multitude. I had hopelessly lost my count, so I had to start over.

I must have fallen asleep laughing.