The Hole in a Tree - April 3, 2011

I drove Bruce up to Newark Liberty Airport this morning. He’s flying out to Ohio for a week-long visit with his family. As we travelled along the Garden State Parkway and then the NJ Turnpike my eyes would begin to burn as I choked back the tears, remembering the many times that I drove this route on the way to countless doctor, chemo and radiation appointments. I never counted the number of trips nor figured out how many hours but I’m guessing that I spent more time with Pete over the past two years than I had since he graduated from high school.

Before Pete was diagnosed we had lives that revolved around school, work and friends. Family was always there, of course, but for much of the time we lived in separate homes; he in the house on John Street and I lived here, a distance of less than 4 miles, but as the saying goes, life got in the way. We would often touch base by phone or text, or I might stop by the Costco pharmacy to say a quick hello when I was shopping. He’d stop over for coffee, come here or we’d meet somewhere for a meal, but how often was dependent upon our respective schedules. Pete, Bruce and I were all working full time and Pete was attending Stockton College, Ocean County College or Rutgers during those years, so finding a mutually convenient time was not always easy.

About a year and a half before his initial diagnosis I sold the house on John Street and Pete moved in with us. The plan was that this was to be a temporary living arrangement until he finished his degree and decided what he was going to do afterward. All that changed in a heartbeat.

As I drove home these thoughts and more were tumbling around inside my head along with memories of the many times Pete and I travelled these roads together. As I got closer to my parkway exit I passed by Bamm Hollow Golf Course and I thought about something Pete had seen on one of our earliest trips. As the passenger, he had the opportunity to look around and observe the scenery, a difficult thing for me to do as the driver.

During one drive home he spotted a hole in a tree. He described it to me so often as we approached that particular section of roadway but try as I might, I was never able to take my eyes off the road long enough to find that tree, let alone the hole. So many times he would tell me to “Watch for the stand of trees set back from the road, a dead tree in the middle, its trunk broken off just above a perfectly formed, round hole. It’s coming up… There it is!” But I could never find it. He even tried to point it out to Gina when she went with us during her visit this past winter but she missed it, too.

Today, as I passed the golf course on the drive home my mind began playing his directions in my head. My eyes suddenly caught the stand of trees set back from the road and there, in the brief second that I glanced over was the dead tree in the middle and I saw it - a perfectly formed, round hole just below the break! Yes, Pete, I finally saw it and it was just as you had described it.