The fig tree holds his name

The fig tree holds his name is a story of loss, memory and family: a weekend at my late uncle’s home, where we gathered his memories, said goodbye beneath the fig tree, and named a wounded bird after him.

This story is about a weekend spent at my late uncle’s home with my cousins, shortly after he died.

Together, we watched old videos and looked through photographs of him. We picked oranges from the tree, played in the house, and spent time with his memory in the most ordinary spaces. His absence was everywhere, but so was the life that continued around us.

One afternoon, we buried his ashes beneath the fig tree. It felt like a quiet way of keeping him close to the place he loved.

On the day we were leaving, a wounded bird crashed into the living-room window. We took care of it and named it after my uncle. For me, it became a small symbol of grief, fragility and hope.

That is our family most tender way to live with loss: through children, rituals, nature and the small moments that help us say goodbye.