“Mom never wanted this.” 

Amy was sure of it, but Tammy didn’t listen. Their mom had always told Amy that that was a little sister’s job: to be a pain in the ass. And Tammy did that job well past the days of being little. 

They had always been different, seen the world differently, held different values. Their mom, their DNA and their shared 12 years under the same roof were the only things that ever linked them together. Now, all that was left was that through line of familial blood coursing through their veins. Amy’s pulsed wildly along with the angry thump of her heart. 

“Yes she did, Amy. Mom never wanted to rot away in the ground,” Tammy pleaded, throwing her hands around as if simultaneously gesturing to heaven and hell. “She wanted to be reborn… become something beautiful!” 

But the biodegradable burial pod they stood beside wasn’t beautiful at all. In fact, this ridiculous tryst Tammy, and apparently their mom, has sprung on Amy looked like an ostrich egg caked in mud, thoughtlessly discarded and left for dead by an unloving feathered mother. That’s how Amy sometimes felt her mother had treated her. Tammy had always required so much of mom’s attention, whether it was that time when she was thirteen and mom found eight warm bottles of Molson lining the out-of-season clothes bin under her bed, all the way up until she was 20 and their mom was footing the bill for Tammy’s third stint in rehab. Yes, her younger sister always loved to play the lost sheep, and mom the good shepherd who continually went out of her way to bring Tammy back home. Amy — as the stable one who put herself through undergrad and law school — became an afterthought. Or, perhaps, in the herding analogy, she was the shepherd dog? She certainly wouldn’t have minded giving Tammy a little nip in the butt now, though it was too late to set her or the situation on a different course. Their mom was, after all, already incased in an egg-shaped, organic casket, ready to be lowered into a hole dug by a few lackeys on the land of Tammy’s little hippie commune. 

Amy stood, roasting in the July heat in her acrylic black dress — a poor choice for the season, but her only conceivable option for the sudden funeral. She had been impressed when Tammy said she would handle the arrangements, promising that mom had shared some details with her in passing over the years, though she had never written them down or drawn up a will. Losing the work day to attend the funeral would already set Amy back, with a big case looming. Plus, she was also managing her son Timmy’s therapy and extra study sessions needed due to his ADHD. Most nights, after he had gone to bed, with a glass of wine in hand, she reviewed the final details of her divorce from Teddy, Timmy’s father, to ensure she’d walk away with every dime and asset she deserved from his dirty, rotten, cheating ass. 

So, sure, she’d let Tammy take the reins. It was high time she started giving, rather than receiving, familial support. And after all, her sister had no job, no kids, and no responsibilities outside of the herb cultivation or kombucha fermentation or whatever other bullshit she was responsible for on her dumpy commune homestead. Tammy had moved here three years prior in an effort “find herself” and “become one with the earth,” but all she had become was a walking cliché. Her blonde dreadlocks were tied back in a colorful scarf and her tanned, toned skin wrapped up in her ill-fitting peasant dress, all of which made her stand out at the funeral like the sharp thorn she had always been. 

“Listen, Tammy, I know you mean well with this whole burial pod thing, and maybe mom even expressed interest in this at some point. But I can’t let her be buried out here all alone. She’d want to be with grandmom and Aunt Kathy and Uncle Dave. She’d want to be with her family.” 

“We are her family,” Tammy retorted, grabbing Amy by both wrists. “Jedidiah said if he ever sells this place, he’ll write it into the deed that the trees can’t be touched. I know it’s hard to understand because you haven’t been around much, but mom had become very spiritual over these last few years. She didn’t want to be interred. She wanted to flourish, to blossom.” 

Tammy moved in to hug her sister, and Amy allowed the embrace to take her over, take her tension and doubt away. Her shoulders relaxed and she sighed deeply. She gave in. 

It wasn’t until they had tossed the seeds and the dirt and said their goodbyes, when Amy was back in the car, that she realized Tammy had said “trees.” 

~~~ 

“Bye grandma! Bye great aunt Tammy!” 

Timmy brought his son, Todd, to the hill most Saturdays when the weather was favorable. They’d play catch, fly Todd’s kite, or have a picnic in the shade of the three towering maple trees that stood at attention, looking over the rolling landscape that became breathtakingly beautiful and different with each changing season. 

Though the property had changed hands multiple times since his mom had started taking Timmy here decades ago, all it ever took was one knock on the door and a quick explanation to bypass any awkwardness over his regular visits to this land that his family never owned, but was theirs all the same. 

“Don’t forget to say goodbye to your great grandma, big guy. Remember, she’s the tallest and strongest of them all.” At his dad’s request, Todd began to wave silently, just as wind whispered through the trees and seemed to mimic his motion. 

“Dad, how did grandma and great grandma and great aunt Tammy become trees?” 

This was the first time Todd had questioned it, and Timmy had never thought to prepare an answer. 

“That’s a long story, bud. But the short answer is that, even though they had to leave their bodies behind sooner than they’d hoped, they wanted to live forever, together, in closeness and beauty. And they wanted to be there for us, too.” 

Timmy smiled at his young son who scratched his head, perplexed. Timmy reached for his fragile hand, from which a brilliant red maple leaf fell as Todd took it. 

“C’mon, let’s get home.”