Alison Prine

As a child I was dropped young into the maze of grief. Everyone in my family was caught in it. My mother’s mother’s sorrow was so immense, I couldn’t stay in the house when she came over. There was a sweet cherry in our neighbor’s backyard. I climbed up into its limbs. There was a willow on the corner of Larchmont and Sunrise Drive that allowed me to slip beneath its trailing branches. Later I would watch the oak in the front yard let go of her leaves as they twirled past the window. A tree can teach you everything you need to know to practice dying.