Seasons of the Tree: Legacy of a Treasured Soul

© Copyright 2012 Kristin Ottolino.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4744-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4743-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-4742-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912618

Trafford rev. 07/12/2012

www.trafford.com

North America & international

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Contents

Introduction

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter I

The Planting

Chapter II

Sapling Frost

Chapter III

A Time of Weeding

Chapter IV

In Full Bloom

Chapter V

Wilting Foliage

Chapter VI

Strong Winds

Chapter VII

Leaves Descend

Chapter VIII

Long Winter

Chapter IX

Branches Bare

Chapter X

Sprouting Buds

About the Author

After growing up during the depression, Nana must overcome the adversity of a bad marriage while playing an important role in her niece’s childhood. In her golden years, Nana remarries and is finally content with a perfect life. A fatal illness strikes and Nana’s influence on the life of her niece ends . . . or does it?

In Eternal Loving Memory of

Anne Marie Selep-Cooper

Nana

1931-2009

Introduction

Nana’s death served as the catalyst for Seasons of the Tree coming to fruition. With journal in hand, Nana at the helm, and a raison d’etre so extraordinary, this story could no longer remain concealed. Between the covers of this book lies a true story, narrated with candor, chronicled for posterity’s sake, and presented to you unembellished.

Acknowledgements

To my treasured friend Cindy Romano, owner of C. Romano Photography: (www.cromanophotography.com) For your support and creativity with the cover for this book. For capturing all the precious moments along the way. For your help and encouragement to write more into the story.—Thank you. You are not just a photographer, but a true artist.

To my friend for over half my life, Dave Mende: For providing all the support and necessary tools to complete this project.—Thank you.

To Donn Fairchild: For helping me with the timeline, and especially for the wonderful memories from childhood to date. You have been, and always will be most special in my life.—Thank you.

To my dear friend Aimee Lange: I have always respected your opinions. When I had problems with this book, you were there with a simple solution.—Thank you.

To my long-time friend Trudy Mueller: For helping me to keep my chin up the day Nana came home to rest.—Thank you.

To my family from War Machine, and special thanks to Robert Jacobs, Pam Moehling, Kirk Carlson, Dee Miller, Darlene Dietz, Sue Caldwell Roberts, and Godfather Chris McEvoy. I couldn’t be where I am now without you, in both the MW game, and in life. Because of gaming and chatting with each one of you, I was able to clear my mind enough to write this book.—Thank you.

To my family in Mafia Wars for the almost three years I spent gaming and chatting with you after Nana’s death. Special thanks to Michelle Trcka, Vanessa Gronefeld, Jeff Feather, Leslie Ferrell Chavers, Samantha Helvenski, Jason Musser, Patrick Beck, Nikki Jacobs and Stevie Sativa. You effect lives more than you realize, just sitting at your computers.—Thank you.

A special thank you goes to another one of my treasured friends, Dr. Cindy Hovi of Hovi Chiropractic: First and foremost for saving the life of my father. He would have never been here to see this book published if it were not for you. Secondly, thank you for those three little motivational words; Publish or perish. Last, but not least, for all the help with the storyline that brought it all together.—Thank you.

To Brian Stoddard: For being so supportive throughout the painful times at the end of Nana’s life.—Thank you.

To my beta-readers, Eileen Walters, Barb Weidner, Pat Hare and other members of The Happy Bookers Book Club: For taking the time to help me with the storyline and editing. For all the critique you have offered to make this a publishable piece.—I cannot thank you enough.

To my close friends Regina Anderson, Merrilee Gaydos, Michelle Trcka, Bonnie Allen, and Pam Moehling: For beta-reading and offering your help and support.—Thank you.

To my friend Daniel Giallombardo, author of The Santori Connection and The Spy Who Died Twice and Other Stories: When words failed me, you were there to pick up the pieces. You have been such a great help to me. I cannot thank you enough for all the hours you spent with me editing and putting up with my Chicago colloquialisms. You know what they say; You can take the girl out of the city, but . . .—I am so grateful to have you as a friend, thank you so much for all your help.

To the folks at Trafford Publishing: For all you’ve done to help me publish, and for your patience.—Thank you.

To my Mom: For always being there for me.—Thank you.

My Father once told me: Where you’re concerned, anything is possible. I never forgot that.—Thanks Dad.

For Rio

Prologue

What you are about to read is a true and factual story. Some names have been changed for legal purposes. However, everything herein has happened in the life and times of Anne Marie Selep-Cooper a.k.a. Nana. And just as in any life, there are ebbs and flows. This story’s purpose is to explain the impact Nana had on her niece’s life, in doing so, this story may impact yours.

Chapter I

The Planting

Nana was kneeling at the edge of the rock circle in my front yard. She was planting the flowers in the middle of the circle of rocks, her hands muddy from the freshly-dug black dirt, her hair disheveled. I couldn’t help but notice the dirt on her face as she wiped her brow with the back of her muddy hand. The smudge looked so out of character on her, I couldn’t help but chuckle. There was no point in telling her. With the task at hand, and the outside temperature, she was just going to do it again.

This is it. This is the place I want to be buried when I die. Nana pointed downward with the trowel, directing my attention to the spot in the shade near the twisted branches of the Harry Lauder’s Walking Stick dwarf tree that Nana and my father had once given to me as a gift. "Then, Nana said with a smile, I will always be near you and you can come here to talk to me anytime you like."

Oh, the talks we used to have. In my youth, Nana was always my mentor, my "go to" person when I needed advice. Nana was important to me, too important to lose. Nana and I would have many delightful conversations throughout my lifetime. I haven’t really been out there to speak to her very much since her death. I have to admit, I do feel a little guilty about that.

Nana was my favorite aunt. Nana had two siblings, a younger brother, and my mother who was the youngest of the three. Many years after my mother’s divorce from my father, and with my mother’s approval, Nana married my father. Nana and my father loved to come to my house to visit.

My house is surrounded by mature trees that must have taken generations to grow. Located in such a serene setting, there is a great deal of privacy. Nana really liked the property and loved helping me with the small tasks that seemed too huge for a city girl like me to tackle, especially if it involved bugs.

I tried sitting out there once after Nana died, for a one-sided chat. I sat on the rocks that edged the circle of pastel colored flowers, but just as when I tried my hand at planting flowers, there were too many pesky insects crawling around. They made me lose my train of thought. I couldn’t get Nana’s advice anyway, so I would just get depressed.

Those talks were just not as productive as they used to be. Because of that, I haven’t been out there as much as I had originally thought. I do occasionally walk past the rock circle and say hello. Having Nana’s ashes near me and all my wonderful memories of her seems quite enough.

I never thought about Nana dying. I guess I knew it was inevitable, but I refused to think about it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought she would live forever. Having Nana in my life was just how things were meant to be. Nana was there when I was born and I assumed she would be there all of my life. I never pictured my life without Nana. What a wake-up call I had.

It seemed like some sort of cosmic joke when Nana died. It was surreal. I felt like I was watching a movie. This could not possibly be happening to her. Nana couldn’t die, she was supposed to live forever. How could this happen? I was unprepared for it. We all get sick, but Nana always recovered after a bout with illness. Mentally, I had turned her into some type of super-hero. She was bulletproof. Nothing was ever going to happen to her. In my mind she was indestructible. That didn’t work out so well for me.

Nana had a plethora of health problems. Nana was, after all, seventy-eight years old. Her health had been failing for a few years before her death and grew progressively worse towards the end. Nana had both kinds of arthritis, probably from living in a cold damp house in Michigan for years.

Nana had diabetes, tumors on her spine that made it painful for her to even sit in a chair, and a heart problem as well. It was difficult for Nana to walk and she suffered a lot because she refused to take the medicine that would stop the pain. Nana would say, The medicines make me sleep too much, and if I try to stay awake, they make me groggy. This was not how Nana wanted to live out the rest of her days.

Drugged or in pain, those were Nana’s choices at the end of her life. No matter how bad the pain, Nana would not complain, ever. She no longer had to live in pain, Nana was finally