The fig tree

Kate moved from London to New York ten years ago to do a Master’s degree in Biochemistry- she felt in love with Rob and stayed here. She grew up in Greece, as everybody else from our family, and she used to built castles from wooden boxes underneath the fig tree, from which we used the figs to make traditional homemade marmalade.

Last night I visited Kate for our usual Friday afternoon tea. I brought her one of the last jars of fig marmalade – to our own disappointment that fig tree has grown old now and although still alive, it no longer produces any fruits.  Nevertheless, yesterday was a special occasion that needed a special gift… we had to discuss all the details of the birth of her first son!

-Oh Mary, you shouldn’t have brought me anything really, I am just happy you are here!

-My pleasure, dear, always.

At the age of 41, having already brought up 3 kids,  I was very experienced with the concept of labour. I knew about the heaviness in the pelvis when the baby drops, the contractions, the baby kicks… But, anyways, I wanted to be there for Kate. She was my favourite niece and the only relative I had left in the States. For my good luck, I had my mum helping me with all my three pregnancies. I remember she used to find New York amazing, but no longer for people of her age. Although mum and dad had lived in Manhattan at his very early career, I knew that she was actually going out of her comfort zone to come back here. She had to leave dad and their lovely Cretan house by the sea in order to come in noisy and fast-moving New York. But she did and I am so grateful to her. So, now, with Kate’s pregnancy, I feel it is my turn to help someone I love.

The afternoon was full of questions:

-What if the baby won’t cry straight ahead? ..What if it will hurt so much that I will want to die?...What if Rob faints?.....From 1 to 10, how intense were your labor pains, auntie Mary?

Although Kate had gone through all these questions again and again with her doctor, she wanted the reassurance from someone who was carrying the same genes.

-The pain is intense, darling, but the joy of holding your newborn baby is beyond description! Be patient, persevere and everything will go well!

Kate was smiling at me and her big blue green eyes were shining gloriously. 

The time passed quickly and by 18.30, Harry was already waiting for me in the car. I hugged her warmly and gave her my last advice:

Sweetheart, the fig marmalade I brought is a symbolic gift. Do you remember our fig tree in Greece? Your grandfather bought the seed and he planted it at the back yard of the house. As he had to leave to the UK for work, he asked your great grandmother to take care of it. And she did. She was watering it, giving fertilizers to it, she even bided it to a wooden stick to help it grow. And the fig tree grew tall and strong and gave many many memories to our family. How many times haven’t you hide behind that tree when you were playing hide and seek with your cousins? How many times haven’t you sat underneath it and shared your thoughts, your secrets? Today, I brought you one of the last jars of the marmalade we made from the last figs of that tree. Be to your son like this tree has been to our family. Welcoming, kind, giving, nurturing. Be there to listen, to protect, to give. Be his safety net, his link to the past, his sweet mum.

I wiped the tears off her swollen from pregnancy chicks and kissed her goodbye.

-Thank you, she whispered.

-Love you, I whispered back and hug her tightly.

Photo Sources:

1. http://www.pomonafruits.co.uk/images/

2. Pexels