The Biggest Tree, pt. 2: Gabriel's Ladder

This is part 2 of a short series on this magnificent tree. You can find Part 1 here. This piece was featured first on Sep 10 for One Good Thing, a weekly newsletter brought to you by Alexis Madrigal about his take on Bay Area art, culture & nature. Subscribe today.

Last week, I sent out an ode to a magnificent redwood tree that I often pass in Berkeley. Later that night, I received an email from Arianna Cassidy, an obstetrician in the Bay. She identified herself as a neighbor and said, “There are even more things about the tree that are special.”

It turns out that her best friend Chloe Bryson-Cahn’s family lived in the house with the tree while they were growing up, and it became the symbol of a friend they’d lost.

“Our beloved friend, Gabe Catalfo (son of Phil & Michelle), died in 1998, when we were 15, after a long battle with leukemia,” she wrote. “It was a crushing and beautiful loss. We dedicated that tree to Gabe with a special community ceremony – there’s still a plaque at its base.”

I could not believe it. Out of all the trees in Berkeley, somehow I’d been attracted to this one.

Gabe’s story is crushing. Phil shared the family’s saga on the Well, one of the early outposts of the Internet, as well as in a massive feature for an alternative weekly. And in Gabe’s final months of life, the family let the San Francisco Examiner’s Julian Guthrie into their home to tell his story. If you’re anything like me, you, too, will gently weep as you read about this lovely kid and his loving family.

Gabe was diagnosed young. He was in and out of treatment for years. In between, he played sports, chatted up girls, went skydiving. “He was vivacious, sporty, funny, and friends with everyone,” Arianna told me. “All the girls had varying degrees of crushes on him, but that didn’t get in the way of being friends.” For years, they hoped he would get better. Then, for months they knew he would not.

And then, on a Wednesday in November, he died.

“As his father knelt beside him holding his hand, Gabe drew his final breath just before midnight. He had fought hard for life, and his family said he died peacefully,” Guthrie wrote. “On Monday, he called his parents close and told them he would live a few more days. He made them promise they would stay together. He told them he loved them and kissed their hands. He knew where he wanted his ashes scattered.”

That story noted that “a redwood tree was dedicated to him.”

Arianna put me in touch with Phil and I got to ask him about Gabe and the tree. It turns out that people in their circle call the redwood “Gabriel’s Ladder.” Phil remembered parts of the ceremony. Some of the Catalfos’ friends led them through a ritual, honoring different parts of Gabe’s existence through the four directions. Gabe’s friends shared their memories and experiences, too.

“Gabe was pretty charismatic and very sociable and very close to all his friends. And they all knew that he was gonna die,” Phil told me. “I was really experiencing the palpable sorrow and loss among these young people. And I said to them, ‘If you want to honor Gabe, live your life well. Live it to the fullest.’ That’s what he wanted.”

Most of the time, it is possible, maybe even necessary, to ignore all the pain of the world, the suffering of children, the manifest unfairness of human lives. (How else could we get through a day?) But the magnificent tree had brought me into close, searing contact with the reality underneath the everyday.

I flashed back to an afternoon I spent in a Los Angeles hospital while my oldest sister was in labor. I was 10ish and I spent the hours sitting in the waiting room talking with a bald girl who was fighting leukemia. After we left, I spent all night trying to draw her, to fix her in my memory. I also cried a lot that night. What had she done to deserve that? What have any of us done to deserve anything? I thought about her for months afterwards. Decades have passed, but every few months, she comes back to my mind and I hope she got better. But maybe she didn’t. Gabe didn’t.

All this time later, the tree remains meaningful to everyone who stood around it for that dedication. “The tree feels like home in many ways,” Arianna told me. “It is so grand, and it makes me think about the passage of time. It reminds me of Gabe, and the Catalfos, and the period of time when we lost him, how much that hurt and how beautifully the community came together.”

As I got ready to send this newsletter out, I did have to check one thing. We thought it was the same tree, but I hadn’t seen a plaque at its base. So, I went back. Circling it slowly, I finally spotted the plaque there at the house-side base in the dappled shade of a fern.

The plaque reads:

“GABRIEL’S LADDER

This majestic tree will always remind us of Gabriel Catalfo (1983-1998), whose strength, courage, and joy live on in our hearts.

All who cherish his memory are welcome to visit and reflect. May our thoughts climb this ladder to reach his spirit, and may we always know how precious are the gifts of life and love.

Fly with the eagles, Gabe.”

“I think the most remarkable thing was how many people pause what they are doing when they pass the tree to look at it and look up up up,” Chloe told me. “I found that particularly apparent after we dedicated the tree to Gabe as it felt like everyone was stopping to look up and pay tribute to him! But all kinds of people passing by stop and stare, in quiet awe. It’s really beautiful.”

I’m one of those people. And now, every time I pass by, I will honor not just the tree, but Gabe and his family and his community.

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Alexis Madrigal, Co-Host, Forum

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