Two angels. Top my tree. Always.
Two very special angels ... one blonde ... one brunette ...
it's a family tradition.
Surprisingly, it wasn't my idea. It was their father's idea.
It's important to give credit where credit is due.
There have always been an abundance of angels in our house. My collection started when I was just a small girl and my own father lovingly called me ... Angel Fluff.
Once Abbi came along ... so did some delightful angels ... that belong to her. One of them ... a blonde beauty in a velvet dress ... graced the top of the tree.
Each year, the tree was installed in it's stand ... and the lights strung on the branches ...then the decorating was left to me. Until it was time to put the angel up on top. That was always Dad's job. He was taller ... and he took great joy in the specialness of the task.
He said something like "There she is ... my Abbi-angel!"... as he began to position her in the branches. And Abbi said, "What about Jess-A-Mine?" (That's what she called Jessi that first year.)
Never missing a beat ... he wandered over to the counter where all of the Christmas pretties were spread out ... and spotted a sweet brunette angel. Picking her up, he secured the angels together in what appears to be a sister-hug. With a kiss on her cheek, he declared her ... his Jessi-angel.
Together ... the Abbi-angel and the Jessi-angel ... were carefully perched on top of the tree.
In that a moment ... out of love & laughter ... a family tradition was born.
Christmas. I've always loved Christmas.
The trimmings. The trees. Baking. Old memories. Making new memories. And all of the traditions. Season after season ... full of hope, joy and love.
It's been many a year now ... since I've been able to feel Christmas. And I wonder, what are you supposed to do with those family traditions ... when that family no longer exists?
The first couple of years ... after the ice storm ... the best I could do was put up the tree. If it hadn't been for Jessi ... I might not have even managed that. The last couple of years ... I have made the effort to at least rummage through ALL of the boxes ... shuffling ... sorting ... and selecting a few more things each year ... to bring out ... in an effort to recapture the joy.
A live tree kind of gal. That's me. There was never an artificial tree in my home ... not when I was single ... not when we were a young family ... no matter where we lived ... we always managed to find a great ... live ... tree.
The Arkansas years were always special ... we'd go tramping through the woods with Uncle Bill and Uncle John ... make our selection ... cut it down ... and bring it home. Even that one Christmas ... early on ... that the girls and I spent alone, we went to the farm ... and we had a real tree.
I'm not sure why I've denied myself ... the real tree ...during these years. Somehow it has seemed like too much trouble. Of course, when I recount all of my humorous artificial tree stories I realize that none of my ... real live trees ... have ever been as much trouble as all of them!
Hindsight tells me that it's because I haven't really been ... living. My heart's been frozen ... far from fully ... alive.
Heard a discussion on the radio a week or so ago ... about real trees versus artificial ones. The numbers were heavily weighted towards fake trees ... for a variety of reasons. One caller observed
that ... faux is the new real.
There I was ... sitting in traffic ... with tears running down my face ... as the reality of the situation set in. I've been trying to ... bluff my way ... through Christmas. Not in a full blown pretender kind of way ... not even in a fake-it-til-you-make-it fashion.
Just enough ... of the way we were ... to satisfy Jessi ... and not enough ... reason for the season ... for my heart to heal.
And, of course, right on cue ... came that song .... on the radio .. you know, the station that insists on playing continuous ... holiday ... music but no Christmas carols. Guess they, too, are selling out to the whole ... faux is the new real ... concept.
Where are you, Christmas?
Why can't I find you?
Why have you gone away?
Where is the laughter
you used to bring me?
Why can't I hear the music play?
My life is changing
I'm re-arranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too?
Where Are You Christmas? Faith Hill
Where Are You Christmas? Faith Hill
The song gets to the heart ... of my situation. And, of course, that's it ... that's what you have to do ... re-arrange. And, yes, MaryJane, that means Christmas changes, too.
In her own way, Jessi has been sharing her heart. It's been a long time coming. She's finally saying ... outloud ... the troublesome things that she's been carrying around ...
trying to figure out on her own.
In a moment of total distress, she emphatically stated ... that she was sad because ...
"I really love Christmas, Mom!"
"I really love Christmas, Mom!"
With her words, the final shards of ice ... that have been holding my heart hostage ... splintered and shattered. It took me a day or two to realize ... that it wasn't actually my heart ... breaking. Sure, it sort of felt like that ... there was quite a bit of pain.
Pain is a sign of healing. Healing means my heart is ... breaking ... free. It's part of the process of getting my whole heart back.
For the first time, Jessi & I are both being real. Together we are grieving the loss of Christmas' past. We are accepting that things are never going feel the way they used to be. And that's ok.
Each box will be unpacked ... we will pick & choose the things that make us happy ... that conjure up memories that make us smile. And those things that hurt too much ... well, I'm not sure what we will do with those things.
Maybe Abbi will want some of them. Her life ... her memories ... aren't all tangled up with ours right now. Or possibly we will share a few of them with their Dad. There are bound to be some empty spots in his Christmas' these days, too.
And up on top ... will be a single angel ...
one that Abbi gave to me.
A new tradition ...
www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com
(c) December 2012
This touched me ... deeply.
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