How sorely wrong Maria was when she thought coming back in her next life as a tree would be meaningful and fun. If only she had specified that she wanted to be an oak instead of a weird, bristly conifer. And if only she specified that she wanted to be planted in her old backyard instead of an island in the middle of nowhere. She wasn’t even sure if her children would even follow such specifications, anyway. She was sure that they hated her when she was alive, and rejoiced when she was dead.
But this was not so. None of this was her doing.
It seems that God merely picked an empty tree and put her there to watch the waves crest and fall and to provide a branch or two for a wayward seagull. Her feelings were taken into consideration, but only slightly.
And that was going to have to be good enough for her.