Eric stared up at the oak tree in his front yard.

His parents told him that his grandfather planted it thirty years ago. Eric always imagined what that looked like – thin Grandpa leaning over a hole in the ground, a bucket by his side with the sapling in it, gently parting the earth for what would one day be this massive tree.

Knowing Grandpa, he would have finished the job neatly, then brought over his lawn chair and sat and admired his work for a few hours, smiling and watching the tree grow as he tapped his pipe fillings onto the ground.

Last night when his mother said they were cutting down the tree, Eric tried to tell his parents that the tree was planted as a sign of Grandpa’s love. His mother began to cry. She pointed at his wheelchair and said “That tree is coming down – tomorrow!” and ran from the room.

Eric’s dad just cleared his throat, folded his arms and shrugged.

“Dad,” Eric said. “It’s not the tree’s fault – or Grandpa’s – that I fell out of it. Cutting the tree down will make me feel worse. And Grandpa- it’s not fair.”

“Fair,” his father repeated, sitting down at the dining room table and staring at nothing in particular. Then he forced himself to focus his eyes on Eric. “Life isn’t fair, is it? Your mother just doesn’t want to have to look at that tree. Try to understand that, son.”

Eric shook his head angrily and wheeled out of the dining room. He didn’t understand what good it would do to cut down the tree now. The accident – and that was what it was – already happened six months ago. Cutting down the tree wouldn’t change that he fell from the tree , but it would be one less sign of having Grandpa around.

And Eric didn’t want that. When his grandfather died a year ago, he learned to cherish the few small things he’d left behind. Eric hid one of his pipes in a box underneath his bed and pulled it out just to remember how it was to be around Grandpa – the smell of tobacco, the sound of the tapping. Sometimes he sat and tapped the pipe like that himself just to hear it again and found himself laughing at memories of how Grandpa always tapped the pipe the most the more he didn’t want to hear what the other person was saying.

Those memories brought a smile to Eric’s face as he sat looking up at the tree. And, suddenly, he knew what he had to do – or try to do.

He rolled over to the bottom of the tree in his wheelchair and looked up to find the place he usually started his climb. It was still there – a peg in the tree he hammered in a year ago when he started climbing the tree after Grandpa died. But now instead of it being in a place where he could jump up, it was out of his reach. Eric realized he’d need a new peg.

A half hour later, he’d hammered in a few more pegs at lower heights. As he did this, he planned his route up the tree, realizing that he could climb most of the way up using his arms. The chin-ups he’d been doing to strengthen his arms would come in handy today. With any luck, he could straddle his legs, which were paralyzed, once he reached a certain height.

He checked his watch. The tree cutters were coming in a half hour. He had to hurry.

Tossing the hammer to the ground, Eric reached for the first peg. He felt his body lift out of the wheelchair as he pulled himself up the tree. And then , miraculously, he was climbing again. When he reached the pegs he used to use, his body went into automatic, one hand reaching over the other, until he pulled himself up most of the way.

He stopped, realizing that he couldn’t swing either of his legs over to seat himself on his old perch. Instead, he steadied himself using the crook of his right elbow, dangling as he manually lifted first his left, then his right leg up and over to the correct position.

“It’s this big oak tree over here,” he heard his mother saying about fifteen minutes later. Eric saw her walk beneath him, followed by two men wearing orange T shirts that read “Arnie’s Tree Cutting Service”.

One of them looked over at the wheelchair, then peered up into the tree and saw Eric. Eric waved at him. “Ma’am, what do you want us to do about him?” he asked, pointing up at Eric.

Eric’s mother looked up, then stepped back. “Eric! How on earth did you get up there? Help him down – he’s paralyzed.”

The tree cutter scratched his head and grinned. “He might be paralyzed, ma’am, but he’s a pretty good climber. I don’t know if I can get him down from there.”

“You must have some equipment – or something. Just get him down. He’ll fall. Eric, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, Mom,” Eric said. “In fact, I haven’t felt this good in months.”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Eric, but that tree is coming down today.” His mother turned to the two men. “Go get your equipment. He’ll be down by the time you get back.”

The two men walked off toward their truck. Eric could see them shaking their heads. He looked down at his mother, who continued to remain planted in one spot, staring up at him.

“Mom, I’m not coming down.”

“You most certainly are. You got yourself up there, so get down. Now.”

“No. I want you to listen to me, Mom.” And then Eric added “Please.”

His mother hesitated. “Come down here and we’ll talk, Eric. You don’t have to do this – stunt.”

“You wouldn’t listen to me any other way, Mom. Don’t you see that this tree is a gift from Grandpa? It reminds me of him every day. That’s why I loved to climb it. And I want to still climb it. Please, Mom, don’t take that away from me.”

His mother shook her head. “I can’t stand to look at this tree, Eric. If only he didn’t plant it, you wouldn’t have fallen. You wouldn’t need this wheelchair,” she said, kicking it angrily.

“Mom,” Eric said. “Cutting down the tree is like giving up. It’s like saying I can’t do the stuff I used to love to do. And I can, Mom, more than you think. My life’s not over, Mom.” He saw the two men coming back to the tree, carrying saws.

“I never said your life was over, Eric,” his mother said quietly, wiping away a few tears.

“Then stop acting like it is, Mom,” Eric said. “Look at me. Mom, look at me up here. Please don’t be so afraid for me that you don’t let me be who I am anymore. ”

His mother shook her head. Then she said quietly “I don’t know how you did it, Eric. How did you get up there?”

He pointed down at the base of the tree. “I just lowered the pegs, Mom. That’s all. It’s safe, honest. My arms are really strong and I think it’s good exercise so I can push the chair better.”

She reached over and touched the lowest peg on the tree, then nodded and turned to the men. “Alright,” she said. “Just send us a bill for your time. The tree isn’t coming down.” She waited a few moments, then placed her left foot on the lowest peg. Then, hesitating, she put her right foot on the next peg. Slowly she climbed up, looking at Eric as she did until she got to the branch beneath him.

Then she sat on the branch, smiling at him.

“See, Mom? It’s not so scary, is it?” Eric asked.

“Truthfully? I’m terrified,” she said, laughing. She looked down at the house and yard and grinned. “But I should have come up here a while ago. It is a great view, isn’t it?”

“It’s a fantastic view,” Eric said.

“Grandpa would have loved what you did today.”

Eric nodded. Then he reached for his mother’s hand and there they sat, in the tree, together.

Copyright 2007 Ruth Harrigan