Tough Times and the Tree

We knew the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas was going to be full of tough days. This is usually one of my favorite times of year, even though it is busy and hectic. But these days seem full of minefields everywhere we turn. Big things don't seem so important, and little things seem so full of meaning, which I guess makes sense in its insensibility, since my whole world has been turned upside down. I feel a little like Alice in Wonderland: "Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't."

First, Mitchell's marker was placed at the cemetery the day before Thanksgiving. Even though it has been five months without him, there is something final about that, about seeing his name on the marker in the ground. I have always found cemeteries to be a place of peace, a place of history and of memory. Right now, though, I feel a strange detachment to this place: this is not him, he is not here in this place. He is gone. But in this place, there is a small grove of trees, and that would please him. There are also several young people buried near him, which reminds me that he is not alone, that we are not alone in this place. Others have lost sons and daughters too young, too early, in inexplicable ways and for inexplicable reasons.

Thanksgiving was the first time our extended family had gotten together, but we were not all together, and we won't ever be again. It was actually a good day overall: good food, kids playing, football on tv. I think I did okay until we started driving home, missing his ascerbic assessment of the day.

"Black Friday" is our traditional "put up the Christmas tree" day. I sure didn't want to do that. I had no desire to get our Christmas decorations out and put all that stuff up, knowing that we were going to be out of town for hockey etc. But it isn't just about me, and Carson wanted a tree. Traditionally we buy two live trees, one for colorful lights and fun decorations, and the other for white lights and pretty decorations. This weekend was cold and raining, and we just couldn't see getting out in a mess and buying a wet tree, so late that Sunday afternoon, Mike and I ran to Target to see what was left after Black Friday shopping. We ended up with an artificial tree -- pre-lit! Carson was not impressed, but Mike and I put it together, fluffed it out, plugged it in, and then looked at each other like "that's it?!" Mike brought up one box of ornaments, and when I took the lid off, a simple ornament Mitchell had made in school was on the top, with his picture glued to it. Every ornament we have has a story: we have lots of hockey and other sports-themed ornaments, several Winnie-the-Pooh, ornaments from places we have traveled to, and I have collected a few Hallmark ornaments every year since the Christmas I was pregnant with Mitchell. Every year, I think that I should mark the box with whose ornaments are whose, but I never have. We only put up about a third of the ornaments on this little tree, but it is enough. The stockings are not hung by the chimney with care. How can we hang only three? What do we put in the fourth? Mitchell's favorite decorations were the nutcrackers that usually stand on the mantel. They are still in their boxes, but we did buy a small one to take to the cemetery. So every time you see a nutcracker this holiday season, smile and think of Mitchell!

Carson's birthday is the first week in December, and for years, part of our celebration was to have Santa pictures made on that day. This weekend was also a hockey weekend, and we were in a place we had never been, in Buffalo, NY. It was a great family weekend, and we visited Niagara Falls, went to an outdoor skating rink, watched a Sabres game, but I kept thinking about how much Mitchell would have enjoyed this trip. Carson shouldn't have to have his birthday without his brother.

I don't know what other families do. I know we are watching "Elf," and "Christmas Vacation" and laughing. But I made a promise to Carson five months ago, and a promise to Mitchell. We are still a family. We can still laugh, we can still have fun. Mitchell would want that for his brother, and for us. It doesn't mean that we don't miss him, because I miss him so much I can barely breathe. I don't know how we will get through the next several weeks; I guess the same way we have gotten through the last several months.