Future Trees

March 21, 2020

Dear My Future Children,

Should I ever afford you, I hope this is some proof that I have dreamt you, and somehow the world seems to shine of moonbeams and butterflies today. Sure, your future mom sounds lame, I can’t help it right now. Your future father asked me to marry him two days ago. Let’s be clear, I’m 35, and have lived my life like this may never happen. Glad I waited. Your father is the best, remember that. I hope to keep these letters coming, but I’m going to go enjoy the way the light warms me through the ruins here, and your dad is about to come back with some coffee. I love you now, will love you always, hopefully you turned out ok. - Me

These ruins. How in the world my mother found this tiny, untouched, nine hundred year old church in the middle of the Financial District in London may just be another answer I’m waiting for. This place has burnt down, been bombed to the ground, and everything in between. I see it now as I look at the pores of it’s pillars. St. Dunstan’s in the East. Important enough to have a plaque in front, but small enough to be forgotten in the ever growing nine to five steel and glass institutions around it. Time has forgotten it, but the world deems it important enough to not let it go. Seems it never will. She knew these things.

October 17, 2037

Hanna,

Your unwavering bravery may seem like the same challenge every kid has when they meet someone that gives them butterflies for the first time, but regrettably there was a time when you would’ve had to have extra gumption to go through with asking your first date out like you did. I am so proud of the young woman you are and are becoming. I can’t warn you of heartbreak. I can tell you, but I can’t actually warn you. Everyone has to feel it for themselves. It’ll seem like the world lost all of it’s oxygen. If you’re reading this now, sadly, but fortunately, you have felt this pain, and now know you can pick yourself up and move on, and the world replenishes the air tank eventually. I’m still going to want to kick this girl’s ass if she does you wrong, but hopefully I helped you get through it the way you needed me to. -Me

This broken heart. How I wish I could write letters to my past self telling myself that this would all be ok. The letters have stopped, and I am to bury this book. The one physical remnant that is the leftover extension of my mother. She is now telling me to bury it. Who in their right mind sews seeds, reinforcing it with super glue, into the binding of the black notebook that holds our life? Actual seeds! For someone so sentimental, this just doesn’t seem fair for her to have this book my whole life, and then to just get rid of it. The letters have stopped.

September 3, 2043

St. Dunstan Ruins in the East

Hanna,

You’re reading this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I won’t get to see you walk down the aisle, or however you choose to do it. I’m sorry I won’t get to hold your baby or babies, if you decide to have them. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry that I think you actually turned out ok, and I didn’t ruin you too badly. You have been the adventure of my life, and I only wish to make sure you live your life and have adventures of your own without anything holding you back. Remember you have everything you need to stand with your head up high. Remember that love is magic even if you don’t know it until it happens, and never the same way twice. Remember the words from this journal in your heart. I know you think my final instructions sound lame and crazy. Bury this book. When you’re ready. This place has stood the test of time, and if you need to visit home, these thoughts will be kept safe here. Trust me. You will always be able to see me and think of me how you want to. I love you, always have, always will, eternally. -Me

These seeds. I’ve been sitting in the middle of these ruins all day, and there’s only one place in this living courtyard that has the full attention of the sun. The one hole in the skyline that let’s the light in. I hope the warmth of the light can still reach her here, although she’s asked me to bury a part of her. It’s been a few years since she left. I can be ready. As per instructed, I am trusting in magic.

This hole. I’ve hit something in the ground. Rock bottom. Of course. Only, this rock isn’t a rock at all. I am opening this box.

A woman looks upon the ever blossoming cherry tree in the courtyard of the ruins. She feels the warmth of the sunbeams on her face through the window in her home. She writes a letter.

March 19, 2077

Number 2, St. Dunstan Place

Dear future grandchild,

It is 57 years ago to the day that your great grandfather asked my mother to marry him. You must know, you come from good seeds. Your great grandmother was truly magical, and my father is simply just the best. In fact, he has just brought me a nice cup of coffee as I write this to you. Trust that they, your other grandmother, your parents, and I will always give you a home to visit whether you can see it or not. Trust me. If you find you should ever need a reminder, look at the cherry tree that grows outside the window. This family home was built upon the $20,000 your grandma buried, and the title to these foundations that will stand with the test of time. I cannot wait to meet you, and I love you now, will love you always, hopefully you turned out ok. - Grandma Hanna

She knew these things.