The Christmas Tree

I forgot just how big the stupid thing was - the old, faux tree stored away in my parents' garage.

It took me forever to haul the damned thing from it's place in the loft, and even longer to prop it up into something that resembled a standing position. I'm sure if there'd been any onlookers they would've burst out laughing more than once as the plastic branches whacked me back and forth, refusing to come out of that beaten up old box.

Once the stupid thing was finally erect (after taking one lampoon-ish swan-dive into the hardwood floor), I found myself sitting on the living room floor, staring up at the dusty green Goliath that seemed to taunt me in the afternoon light.

"I'm not happy about this either, alright," I said to it defiantly. "But it's the only way I can make it up to her, you know?"

"No of course you don't!" I added quickly smacking my palm against my forehead. "You weren't around to hear that stupid fight!" With that I leapt to my feet and began scouring the surrounding boxes for everything I would need: cords, lights, scented pine-cones, and the family star. All in that exact order.

The way Daddy had taught me.

"That was actually what the fight was about," I softly admitted to the tree. "We were fighting about him... again..."

It's still so surreal to me that I have to live my life without my father. I spent the first 35 years of my life believing he would always be around. And out of all of us in the family - me, my brothers and sisters, and our mother - she was the one who took it the hardest.

"I guess I can't really blame her," I admitted, gathering up miles of twinkling white lights. "They were together for almost 45 years. I can't imagine," I added with a sigh. "I honestly can't imagine what that's like." And the truth is, I never really wanted to...

Countless friends and relatives, all supportive and well-meaning, have told me again and again that "it'll happen one day." The "it" they are referring to, of course, is the marriage part of life that is expected of young girls. Never mind the fact that some girls never fantasize about their wedding, or develop an interest in hair and makeup; never mind that some girls never really have boyfriends, even when they're very young.

"Boys are terrible anyway, Love," Daddy would say to me (every time I began to suspect there was something inherently wrong with me). "You're better off in life by just being you."

"He always knew just what to say - and when to say it... unlike me," I told the tree as I slid on my knees to the nearest electrical outlet. I connected the green-coated plug and cried out with joy when almost all of the lights burst life. Thank God!

Just as Dad showed me I left a good length of wire at the bottom of the tree, and then lassoed the rest around my arm (praying I wouldn't tangle myself into a cocoon!) and began winding the lights around the tree, top to bottom.

"I may have said some things," I said softly. "Some things that... well... I'm not exactly proud of." I paused to collect my thoughts though my hands never stopped in their work.

"You know what the strangest thing is?" I added at last. "I don't even remember what we said. That's how stupid that fight was." But while I couldn't remember exactly what was said, I could still recall a few important points:

She was distant and selfish - not wanting to share anything with any of us kids (despite the fact that we were already grown when dad died).

I was demanding and cold - ignoring the fact that she'd lost her spouse and her best friend and the father of her children (the irony that I was one of those children was completely lost to her, I think)...

"So stupid," I groaned and I rubbed the bridge of my nose as if my glasses were hurting me. Dad was the only one to ever figure out that was what I did whenever I felt like crying. 'Trying to hide your tears,' he commented if he ever caught me doing it.

That fight, meanwhile, was the first time mom had ever seen me cry since I was little. But even burning tears were not enough to convince her to back down.

So naturally neither did I...

"That was the last time we spoke face-to-face," I said to the tree. I fluffed out the branches to better camouflage the wires. "That was almost 18 months ago."

I took a step back to survey my work, making sure that the lights were nice and even. Then, I dug into the special ornament box I'd brought with me from my house. The cardboard was as old and beat-up as the boxes from the loft. But the treasures that were waiting inside were as young and new.

"I might come over if we get the snowfall they're calling for this season," I told the tree as I began hanging the ornaments. "Kelsey's closer, but she and Ron are so busy with the kids. And Andy can't be counted on... lazy little cat," I added with a snort.

"It would definitely be less awkward if Mel came along - just to help keep the peace," I admitted...

Melissa was always my responsibility. Out of all us kids she was the youngest, and, since I the oldest girl, it was my job to watch out for them all - but always Melissa especially.

"She's not like you or Kelsey, or even like Conner," Daddy once confided in me. "She's not a spit-fire. Not a fighter. She's spirited, of course, but she's also very gentle."

"Too gentle?" I suggested.

"I think sometimes," he replied. "She's a peaceful soul. That makes her a natural peace-maker."

True to Daddy's prophecy, that's exactly what Mel started doing in the months that followed his passing - especially when tensions started to rise between me and Mom.

"Mel says that she's not doing it on purpose," I said, gently placing the last of the ornaments in the branches. "She says that Mom doesn't mean to be so selfish." I sighed and stepped back again, already well aware that Mel was right...

I've never known what it's like to fall in love and marry. Mom did. And she had to make some pretty tough calls because of it: the hospital visits; trips to the E.R.; watching and waiting, with no guarantees; watching and waiting as Daddy's life began to fade right in front of her.

Then came the news from the doctors: there was no hope.

All us kids were brought in, each to say our goodbyes before it was time to turn off the machines. Mel left in tears - she couldn't take it (and I told her there was no shame in that); Kelsey left with Ron, sobbing just as hard - she couldn't take it. I left just before, having told Mom earlier that I didn't think I could take it.

"You don't have to stay, sweetie," she replied gently. "It's perfectly alright."

It was the boys who stayed with Mom for the end. They felt they couldn't leave. I suspect it's like that for all sons and their fathers...

"Ironically enough, that was the last bout of solidarity in the family," I confessed as a dragged over a chair from the kitchen table. I positioned it right in front of the tree, in just the right spot to better reach the wire outlet to connect the star to the lights.

"From then on it seems like nothing has gone right, even all this time later." I climbed up on the chair, the plastic gold star clutched in one hand, and I sighed.

"Kelsey's somehow become even busier, despite having kids and a husband to care for. Conner's gone off again to God-Knows-Where - no idea when he'll actually be back. And Andy, well..." I thought for a moment as I positioned the star on top.

"Andy's a damn-cat," I asserted clicking the star into the lights. It dazzled brightly in spite of it's age, casting a warm and welcoming glow throughout the room. "All he ever does is eat, sleep, and refuse to work around the house. Mel's had to pretty much take over his chores since I moved out! The little turd." I hopped down from the chair, twisting my leg slightly and sending a twinge of pain right up my thigh... karma.

"I know, I know!" I muttered as I reached into my box for the finishing touch. I looked down at the bright red Cardinal cradled in my hands. "'Be nice to your baby brother.'

"It drives me nuts, okay?

"All of this drama, all of this unease - it could all be just a little bit better if Mom would actually step in and be a mother. Instead of working non-stop for 70 hours a week, and then blobbing out on the couch on her stupid tablet. If she would've stepped up more, once the worst of it was over, then, maybe, Mel wouldn't be working so much - maybe Andy would actually step-up for a change - maybe Kelsey would feel a little more at peace, and maybe I would feel a little less..."

I stopped myself, suddenly afraid to say it out loud. I stared down at the Cardinal, it's black beaded-eyes stared back at me thoughtfully. As if it already knew what I wanted to say.

"Maybe I wouldn't feel so lonely all the time. Mom wasn't the only one to lose you, Daddy. Even though she pretends to be..."

I paused as my throat grew tight, and I pushed my glass up slightly as I rubbed my nose again.

"Jesus, it's not fair. None of it."

After my eyes cleared, and I found the perfect spot for the little Cardinal, I clipped him into place and took one final step back to admire my work. Fortunately there were still some empty spaces scattered throughout the tree, though I eyed the remaining two boxes of Christmas ornaments doubtfully.

"There's still enough room to work with," I finally stated confidently to the tree. "At least, if Mom and Mel still want to invite me over after this..."

***

"I still think it would be nice if we at least decorated the tree this year. Just for old time's sake?"

"I don't know, Baby," her mother sighed heavily. "I just don't know if I'm up for it this year."

"But it's Christmas, Mommy," Melissa implored. She balanced her sack of groceries in one arm as she strategically kicked opened the laundry room door. As the wide garage door came down slowly, the gears of the opener grinding loudly overhead, she yelled,

"We sat out last year because it was so sudden. But I think this year it would be good if..."

"Huh? What in the world!" cried her mother, her jaw dropping as she stopped and stared at the sight in the living room. Melissa followed her gaze and froze in place, completely stunned by the sight of the tree already standing in it's place in the living room corner.

The women shuffled closer, dropping their bags of food off at the kitchen table as they went. Melissa cocked her head slightly, realizing that something wasn't quite right with the tree.

"I don't think those are our ornaments," she commented. She walked up to the tree for a closer inspection, before clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a surprised gasp. Her mother quickly joined her, very worried at first, though her concern quickly melted away.

Two beaten up boxes sat patiently in the far corner, still completely filled with all of their regular decorations. Despite that, the tree stood proudly before them with white twinkling lights illuminating the dozens - maybe hundreds! - of small, acrylic-cased photos hanging from every branch. Photos of their family.

Conner standing proudly before his dented blue jeep, gleefully displaying his official driver's licence;

Andy in his favorite Halloween costume - a horned Devil - posing jokingly next to a young Melissa - a pink Bunny;

Anna in costume and on the stage for her first school play, and Kelsey racing to finish first at one of her middle-school track meets;

Every individual school picture, every conceivable combination of the kids at play (or in combat) with one another; each child in a portrait featuring their mother; several portraits of all the children smiling in pose around their mother.

Everyone in the family was represented somehow in brilliant technicolor. Everyone, with only one notable exception.

"Mom," Melissa uttered, nudging her mother's shoulder. Her mother turned and followed her gaze to the little red Cardinal perched happily in the middle of the tree. Her eyes immediately filled with tears and she bit back a sharp sob.

Melissa reached over and plucked the folded white paper clipped under the Cardinal's breast. On the front she read her sister, Anna's, handwriting, a clean and easy cursive: "To Mom"

Melissa handed over the letter, urging her mother to open it. She did, at least six times within the span of thirty seconds, completely perplexed by its meaning:

"We haven't lost each other - When are we allowed to Live again?"

- 11/27/23