Ornaments

Written by RJ on December 11, 2013. Posted in Coleen, Discovery, Healing

Every time I turn around, every place I look, there is a reminder. A song, a decoration, a memory. Something that says “Christmas” to me and reminds me of my sadness and sorrow and loss. I was at the Hospice seminar last week about grief and the holidays and they talked about Christmas as a day of the year. I couldn’t help but point out to the speaker there that Christmas isn’t just a day, it’s a whole season of events and activities and that is the part that I am trying to deal with now. The activities and traditions leading up to Christmas Day. In all the years leading up to this one, Coleen and I would share in all that and we would somehow manage to enjoy it. This year I am doing my best to uphold whatever it is that we would have done before. I made a gift list, I did the shopping, I talked to my daughter Lindsay, who is hosting Christmas Day dinner, about the menu. I was never extravagant about decorating the outside of the house, but I put up a few things on our porch and front door. I wasn’t sure at all what to do about a tree and inside decorations until a couple of days ago.

My granddaughter, Samantha had been hinting around about having a sleepover at my house. She did that a couple of times before with Coleen and me and liked being with us plus it was just her and she had all of our attention without sharing any with her little sister. Samantha has been talking about spending the night at Grandpa’s house for a while and she brought it up again just last weekend coming back from the North Pole. I told Lindsay that we could do it this week and we made plans for last night. After the plans were made I started thinking about what Sam and I would do together and I had a brainstorm. Maybe she could be my secret weapon and help me with the tree and some of the decorations around the house. I knew it was going to be very hard for me to do that alone because I’m such a basket case and uncontrollable sentimentalist lately. I thought having her around might numb some of that. I was right. It did numb some of it. But even adorable, four-year old Sammie, with all her sweetness and innocence, even she couldn’t numb it all. She did a pretty good job though and I got a lot more accomplished with her than I would have without her.

One of the Christmas traditions in this house that has always been dear to me is something that nobody else has ever known about until I told Sammie last night. In 1981, my mother bought Coleen and I a Christmas tree ornament. It was a little white bell with a red ribbon and it was inscribed, “Our First Christmas Together, 1981.” As the father of the house, I was always in charge of the annual Christmas tree installation, stringing the lights and unpacking the ornaments. I didn’t put all the ornaments on the tree, that was usually done by the kids and Coleen until more recent years when we have been empty-nesters. Then I did a lot of the ornament hanging, too. But all through the years, every year in fact, I made sure that the little white bell from 1981 was the first ornament on the tree and that it was placed in the most prominent spot, front and center, about a foot down from the top. Right where it would be noticed and seen. It always seemed like the most important ornament we had, the beginning of everything. And every year as the tree came down, I made sure that ornament was the last one removed from the tree and I carefully wrapped it in paper towels and put it away safely for the next year.

This year, even though I wanted Samantha to help me with decorating the tree, I wanted some privacy with the little white bell from 1981. So the day before she came over, I put up the little artificial Christmas tree I inherited from my mom. And the day Sam came over, before she got here, I brought the Christmas boxes up from the basement and opened the one with the ornaments. There was one right in the middle, right on top, wrapped in paper towels and very well protected. I unwrapped it and looked at it and held it to my lips. I thought of all the years, all the memories, all the love, all the laughter that bell has seen from its mount so prominent on our trees. It was right there, front and center, year after year and had stories to tell even I couldn’t recall. I am not ashamed to say how hard I cried with that bell in my hands, kissing it, making it wet with memories streaming from my eyes.

Eventually, I got it on the tree. It’s in the same place it is every year, but it’s on a different tree. We always had real evergreens. This year it’s a table top artificial. I have learned a lot about things being kind of the same but in different places. Like new branches, like my life, like same things in new places. It seems to make sense about my bell from 1981, too. As I was hanging it, I was having some trouble getting it to face out the right way so I twisted the branches of the tree to let the bell be seen and read properly. As I was fussing with the branches where the bell was hanging, it suddenly started ringing, seemingly by itself. I admit to jostling things around there a little bit, but not enough to cause that kind of commotion from a little white bell. It rang though, almost like it was being tickled, almost like it was laughing, almost like it was alive.

When Samantha came over later, she had a gift for me and it is now a new tradition. Lindsay had ornaments made with Coleen’s picture on them to give to family members and I got the first one. It was in special wrapping paper (a white bag that said “I love you Grandpa” with beautiful artwork) and came with a hand-written note from Samantha. She helped me hang the ornament on the tree and it’s beautiful there. I then showed her the little white bell ornament and explained what it meant to me and my secret tradition. I think she liked knowing that.

I admit to having lost my way a little bit with this post. The bell represents so much to me though, always has. It is just one of the many activities and facets and days of the Christmas season and there are so many more. They will come at me, sneak up on me, surprise me when I ‘m not looking. But they won’t be ignored. I will not hide from the things that made holiday seasons special for my baby and me. I will make the lists, do the shopping, wrap the presents, help with dinner and play the music. I will do it without her. I will do it with her. I will do it because of her.

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