It's the redbud tree I planted in my yard back when I moved in. Since then, it grew bigger and taller, but never flowered. Not even once. This year, finally, a few lovely buds have emerged. I think I know why: last July, when Ryan visited with my parents (the last time I saw him), he pruned the tree for me, along with the little maple out front. I remember that day so clearly: how hard he worked, how determined he was to get it right, how glad I was that he was there to help.
Spring is a season of renewal, of life coming back. My brother is gone from this life, but in so many small ways, he's still here with us.
