Written by Christina Ely Milliman, in memory of Florence Sarah Pelletier Ely and Leonard Roscoe Ely

Published on Facebook, October 15, 2025

There’s a huge party going on in heaven today! Today is or would have been my father’s 80^th Birthday. On one of the days that followed my mother’s death, or perhaps it was at her funeral, Cindy said maybe Mom wanted to go home, to be with him for his 80^th birthday.

I wrote about my father while in high school, sometime after his passing, but when his death was raw enough that the words flowed out of me like they are now about both my parents. Some years later, Kendra Hamilton shared those words with me, written for a creative writing assignment in Mrs. Friday’s English class. Below is what I wrote:

The Majestic Elm

There he stands on top of the world watching our every move, hearing every word, seeing for miles. He knows our faults and strengths, after all, he has watched us for years. We are his children.

His branches spread across the plain: strong and majestic. He possesses strength, both physically and emotionally. He has gained physical might from enduring the strong wind which rushes through him night after night. He has acquired inner strength from those who look up to him. He is revered by all the animals of the forest, from the tiny mouse, to the bold elephant, to the towering giraffe.

Some call him the King of the Land; he is so majestic and so powerful that all who stand before him tremble at his towering appearance. He looks out upon these fools and laughs, knowing he is not overpowering nor one to be feared. He stands firm and solid, but he is just like you, like me; he has emotion, too. Many times he has stood alone longing for companionship, crying tears of sorrow and of loss.

He longs to be free. He is held there by those who need him: his acquaintances and friends. He is tied to the ground: stabilized by his massive structure and, at the same time, restricted from the freedom he longs to attain. He spends hours watching the birds soar in freedom’s path. He glances out but cannot see beyond the distant hills. He asks himself what is beyond the hills and blue sky. Hoping that someday he will find out.

His roots hold him down. Each root has a name etched in its surface: burden, expectation, fear, transgression, sin. He regrets the mistakes and misjudgments he has made, longing to correct them and their effects. He wishes he could go back to escape the trap they have caused. He has endured sleepless nights, quaking from the sorrow he feels.

Over the years, he has planted seeds and watched them grow into small trees; guiding them along their path, helping them develop from the inside out. They look up to him, longing for him to show them the way. He helps them get through the obstacles they face. He has guided them well; they have grown in the semblance and likeness of him. They, too, are strongly revered. He loves his seedlings and would do anything for them. He would hate for them to be harmed. He would let man cut him down for kindling before allowing harm to reach them.

He has given advice to all the animals, steering them in the right direction. He has wisdom far exceeding the years he has stood there and has used it to help those who need lasting advice on matters of the world. He has been there, like a rock. He has endured ridicule and has been praised.

The wind, rain and hail have pounded against his bark, and snow has piled against his trunk. He has stood strong in the scorching sun and in the sub- zero weather. His bark is weathered, but he does not complain.

He is getting old now and his bark is becoming brittle. He has endured a hard winter, no longer possessing the strength to endure the cold and change of the seasons. He has fought his ailments as best he could. Slowly, limb by limb, he is dying a fast and painful death. The animals look upon his deteriorating structure, praying that he will get better but knowing that he will not. Man, too must have seen this, because one day a surgeon came and tried to repair his decaying frame. Quickly, his time is passing; his days are numbered. The animals hoped that spring would bring him new life, but it has not.

He is almost gone now, but is still fighting his ailments, which afflict him. He is still sharing happiness, laughter and strength with those around him. His bark is gray and dry, leaves are falling, limbs are dropping close to the ground. One day, early in the afternoon, a mouse looked upon him and saw that his life was nearing its end. She tried to help but was not powerful enough; he was gone.

They gathered around in sorrow, grieving. His branches comforted them. Many times, they had stood in his shadow and found strength in the likeness he had spread. His words were wise, and his strength was empowering. They longed to possess the qualities he had shown them so often. He loved them, and they loved him, too. Death’s hand has taken him away. His presence will never be forgotten.                                  

Christina L. Ely

What I know today is that there is undoubtedly a celebration—a big party with lots of laughter, joking, smiling, joy, and abundance. And I am sure an array of sweets to partake in. My parents, all of my grandparents, Ely and Pelletier, all of my great-grandparents, my uncles  – John, Bob, Ruben, David, and Henry, my aunts – Joyce, Yvonne, and Jane, and my cousins – Bobby, Suzanne, and baby Cora are together in one big family gathering to celebrate his 80th. What a party that must be! And Mom is there for it and with him. Bless her heart.

Song: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, played by Daniel Barenboim