We bought a fake Christmas tree four years ago at Hobby Lobby's after-Christmas clearance sale. It's scrawny, and it dips to one side, right at the very top. Every year, I drag a chair in from the kitchen. I climb up on the chair and bend and twist the very tip top of the tree so that it stands up straight. And then I find a magazine to put under one corner of the tree stand and usually - if you stand at the right angle - the tree looks almost straight.
Buying that tree marked a break from our family tradition where we'd pile in the car and head for the local tree farm that offered hay rides, and cider, and even loaned you a saw for cutting down the evergreen. They'd shake the tree and tie it up and we'd drive off with that tree strapped to the hood of our car. We'd done it like that for years. But the year we bought the fake tree was the same year I just couldn't shake the sadness and I couldn't pull it together in time to make the tradition work.
That year, I'd sent the family on without me and they'd brought home a tree that our daughter decorated by herself. It was beautiful, but we all admitted it just wasn't the same. So all these years, the fake tree has been taking the place of the real trees that dry up just before Christmas, and clog up my vacuum cleaner with discarded pine needles that get stuck between the carpet and the baseboard and keep showing up until the Fourth of July.
Last night, a strand of lights on the fake but pre-lit Christmas tree went out. I jiggled the connections and plugged and replugged and still - right smack dab in the middle section of the tree - complete darkness. No dazzle. No warm glow. Just a blank space where there should be light. I sat on the arm of the love seat and stared at the lights that refuse to shine and smiled when I realized not a single thing about those burned-out lights could break my heart.
Post Script: I'm slowing down a bit in my heart, here. Maybe it's the holiness of the season. My son and daughter will be home and I imagine I'll be beaming and hugging and crying and bursting with pride and joy. I want you to know that one reason I've been able to "shake the sadness" in recent years - one of the reasons those burned out lights can't get the best of me - is this community right here. You mean the world to me. You bless me. And I thank God every time I think of you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
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