It seemed only yesterday we were undressing the tree.
Taking down the ornaments that our kids had made thru the years now triggered
golden memories. Handling them with care because they were so precious to us.
Wrapping them in used Christmas paper (a trick my mother taught me…you know
"waste not want not!") and storing them until the next time. Every year we buy
a tree or a bush that we can plant in our once barren yard. Pretty soon we’re
either going to be forced to buy the lot next door for the trees or start
another tradition! This year was going to be something "off the wall." I
hadn’t decided what just yet. I think maybe one of those funny looking shrubs.
I don’t know what they’re called, but they look like sticks with big balls of
four-leaf clovers on top of them. I never could remember names and now it was
even worse.
Time was passing so fast. Fifty-five! This year I’ll be
55!!! How did this happen? How did I get here? I’ll think about that
tomorrow…for now it’s the season to be jolly!
Back to the tree…what should we get this year? I pulled my
housecoat around me to shut out the wind. Burr, as pretty as it was out here
on the deck, it was pure torture sitting in the cold. All of a sudden, I
thought of the tree we got a couple of years ago. Little did I know that only
five months later I would be disabled!
I remember that poor little tree. It was pretty on one side
but the other side looked like someone used it for a whipping post. For some
reason, I wanted that tree. Hubby wasn’t thrilled, but he could see what it
meant to me so he didn’t put up a fight. He figured we could hide the bad
side. We took it home and I babied it. Hubby’s part in decorating the tree was
putting the lights on and then the rest was my chore. You know, I’ll never
understand why men get that particular job. But all the men I’ve ever known,
put the lights on the tree and turn the rest over to the "woman of the house"
and the kids too when they’re little.
The lights were placed carefully on the limbs, shining
brightly. Well, really they were strung around and around the tree in no
particular order looking like the tree had already tipped over a couple of
times or been the cats object of affection. Until recently, I always had to
come along behind hubby and fix the lights! I laugh about that now, but I sure
didn’t then.
I remember, thinking that the tree looked so weak and
fragile but still stood tall and proud. I took my time decorating that tree.
In the gaping hole right in the front, I placed the "Baby Jesus House" as my
kids used to call it, on a bed of angel hair. I recall standing back,
assessing the quality of my labors. I had done the best I could for that
disabled little scrawny tree. It made me sad to look at it and think about how
I had been feeling lately. Though I was far from scrawny and being disabled
was the furthest thing from my mind, I identified with that tree. It too, once
was full of life and was pleasing to look at.
It just so happened that this was the first Christmas
without my Momma. She had died eight months earlier of cancer. Now, my Momma
is a whole different story that I’ll tell someday, but you can understand how
sad I was that year. And just to make matters worse, my son and his family
were not coming home for Christmas. I was at the point of wanting to sleep
till the spring thaw.
As I recall, my daughter, who is of my spirit but not my
mind necessarily and who I love more than life itself, was going thru some
growing phases of her own. In other words, she really didn’t want to be around
me that much. I had a way of always picking out the faults in her that I
detested in myself and that didn’t make for a good relationship for a few
years. We were on the mend, but still had a hump or two to get over. One thing
we had had in common was denying that I had Parkinson’s. We had been
successful at that for many years. I had finally accepted it and was dealing
with it but she wasn’t ready. To be honest, that aggravated the heck out of
me. It was my disease, what right did she have to deny it.
So you can see, we were a bit "testy" that Christmas. Yes,
all of the ingredients for a horrible season of glee were there. I remember
when I woke up Christmas Eve morning, I wanted to cover my head and hide. But
my vanity wouldn’t let me admit defeat…I was the strong one. The one who
always had a smile on her face. The one people thought was maybe even a bit of
a snob when it came to socializing. I preferred them to think that rather than
know I couldn’t afford to go to movies with them and such. But that day, there
were no smiles…the strength had faded into a façade with a gaping hole in
front that once held a warm heart full of love.
Christmas Eve had always been my side of the family’s time
to swap gifts. This year we were meeting at my sister’s house instead of
Momma’s. None of us could bear going there as we had all of our lives. We all
managed to get thru it without a tear for Dad’s sake. He could never handle
our tears let alone his own.
My daughter went home with us and spent the night. She
hadn’t done that in several years. Hubby and I always left the tree lights on
Christmas Eve and that year was no exception. The daughter hadn’t been over
since we had put the tree up so she hadn’t seen it. At the time, I didn’t even
think about that. She and I went in the house first and as soon as she saw the
tree she sort of gasped. I thought she’d forgotten something…stepped on
something…or somethin…you know what I mean. Maybe even seen a ghost! She just
looked at that scrawny little tree with the gaping hole that I had so cleverly
hid and said "Oh Momma, that’s awesome!" And I looked at her, wondering what
the heck she was talking about when I noticed she was crying. I asked her what
was wrong and she said, "look at that." The house was still dark with only the
tree lights shining. I looked at the tree and for the first time I saw it was
beautiful. The darkness hid the scrawniness and the lights hit the limbs with
just the right effect. But the most beautiful part of the entire tree was the
gaping hole. The "Baby Jesus House" was the center of attention. The lights
had a halo effect and when I looked at the tree, my eyes automatically went to
that battered and broken space that I had so cleverly tried to hide. The
gaping hole that now was filled with a symbol of love and hope.
My girl is now one of my very best friends. Shortly after
that Christmas, she sat me down and asked me to tell her everything
Parkinson’s was doing to me. Somehow we had gotten over the hump. Now there
was a bond that would never be broken…a bond of love and hope.
Good grief, how did I get on that subject? I gotta decide
what I want for a Christmas tree this year. This year, I’m not the only one
with an ailment. This year, September 11, left many gaping holes. Reckon I
could find a scrawny little tree?
