Each year, decorating our Christmas tree makes me break down in tears. I wish I could say they are happy tears, for the beauty of all the ornaments or the sparkling lights. They are sad tears; they are tears flowing from somewhere deep inside which has a wound that will not heal. Taking out each ornament, remembering when it came to us, who gave it to us, who it was for…It feels like my heart breaks a little more with each one.
Many of the ornaments were given to Sullivan in the two Christmases he had with us. Some, we’ve gotten each other since then because they remind us of him. There are his two “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments, one from each grandmother. There are the ornaments from his second Christmas. There is the sock monkey, wearing a Santa hat, which I bought for Topher the year after Sullivan’s death. One of Sullivan’s favorite toys was his sock monkey, which his Grandma K. made for him. There is the Sully-monster ornament, which I got for Topher. Monsters, Inc. came out when Sullivan was alive and we have loved Sullivan Monster ever since. There’s the butterfly that we got from a Hospice ceremony remembering loved ones who died that year. And more that I can’t even think of without wanting to cry again.
More of the ornaments which make me cry are mine. Each one is an angel. Each one was given to me by Grandma Mac. She gave me an angel each year until I became a mom, I think. And then she gave me a beautiful tree topper angel, which I no longer have. She became too ragged and worn, after just a few years. Terpie cat didn’t help that any, with her fascination of the wings on the angel. We have a tiny tree this year, so most of my precious angels aren’t on the tree. Still, whenever I see one, I remember my grandma (she passed away just over a year ago) and the many gifts she gave.
My tree skirt is one of those gifts. It was the tree skirt my mom used for as long as I can remember. One year she gave it to me. My grandmother had pieced together squares leftover from the many dresses she’d made me when I was little. I look at that tree skirt and I remember each of those dresses. My mom often had a matching dress. And I remember standing while my grandma took my measurements for each dress. I remember the year she cut down a silky leopard print night gown of her own and made one for me, because I loved hers so. She sacrificed half of her night gown to give me one just like it. I loved it. I love her.
Why do I forget each year how much it hurts to have all of these reminders? Why do I forget how much my heart can hurt? Why do I forget? How do I forget the pain each day?
