Every year Mike, the boys and I went to the same Christmas tree farm to pick out our tree. We would walk circles around the lot until we found the perfect one. A real Christmas tree was a must for Mike. He would say it wasn’t Christmas without a real tree.
Mike is allergic to Christmas trees. If he touched them, he would instantly break out in an itchy rash all over his hands. Every year I would remind him to grab some gloves to wear when cutting down and loading the tree. Every year he would say, “Nah, I’ll be fine.” The itching would start on the drive home, and I would just laugh and shake my head in finest ‘I told you so’ fashion.
He would bring the tree inside and set it up on the stand. I would stand back making sure it was straight while he laid sprawled out underneath tightening the stand and adjusting the tree to my liking. Next, he would make his sugar water concoction for the tree that he swore made it stay alive longer. We would typically have the movie Elf playing on the tv while the boys ran around getting into the bins of Christmas decorations. Mike always was the one to wrap the tree in lights. He would use strand after strand making sure they were precisely placed so the strands were hidden in the branches, yet the twinkle lights were showing.
Once the tree was wrapped in lights, he would leave it for me and the boys to decorate all while complaining about how itchy his hands were. I would just laugh as he scrubbed his hands in the kitchen sink… every year.
I’d let the boys put all their favorite ornaments all over the tree, then of course fix it to my liking once they went to bed. When the boys were little Mike thought they needed a train around the Christmas tree. Not just any train. It needed to be a certain Polar Express train. After we would sit and finish the Elf movie, the boys would go to bed and Mike would set up the train so they could wake up to it running in the morning. Complete with special drops to put in the smokestack to make smoke come out of the train.
This was us every year. Our tradition, itchy hands and all.
Our first Christmas after he died the boys and I didn’t get a tree. I didn’t put even one Christmas decoration up. My excuses were that the house was being remodeled, floors were being replaced and we were going to Nevada to be with my parents for Christmas anyways. It’s no secret this was just what I made myself believe. The reality of it was I couldn’t bear to do all the things without him.
Fast forward to our second Christmas.  I had two little boys asking daily after Thanksgiving when we were going to the Christmas tree farm to pick out our tree. If it was my choice, I still would have made excuses again why not to get a tree or decorate the house. And I did for a few days.
Then one night I honestly just said to myself, screw it. This was one of Mike’s favorite things to do with us. If he could endure a terrible itchy rash for days to make a magical Christmas tradition for our family, I knew I had to keep that up for our boys.
So, we hopped in our truck and headed to the Christmas tree farm. We circled the lot until we found the perfect tree. We joked about their dad never brining his gloves, how now we forgot the gloves and I didn’t want to get my hands dirty. We heaved the big tree into the back of the truck together.
I dragged the tree into the house. With sap on my hands and pine needles all over the house I somehow managed to get that heavy tree on a stand. I had no clue how Mike made his secret sugar water concoction, but I attempted one and watered the tree. While Elf played on the tv the boys ran around the living room and got into all the Christmas decorations. I quietly wrapped the tree with lights by myself. I knew I wasn’t doing it right and silently cried the whole time. By the time the tree was ready to decorate I was exhausted. I am not physically strong by any means, and it was a lot to do all of that on my own. But I was more exhausted emotionally.
After we finished watching Elf and the boys went to bed, I tried to put the train together. I failed. I couldn’t figure out how to get the tracks together in a circle under the tree. I couldn’t find the drops for the smokestack. I sat on the floor of our living room in front of the Christmas tree, still with sap all over my hands and pine needles I never vacuumed up staring at the four stockings hanging from the mantle.  I was mad at Mike for not being there, yet proud of myself and relieved to see how happy a simple Christmas tree made my boys.
Learning to live your everyday life without someone you love is not an easy task. People would tell me to take it one day at a time. I would think, are you kidding me? I’m barely able to take it minute by minute. I could be fine one minute and a basket case the next. I’m not going to lie; I could still be described as that today.
Through grief and learning to live after loss it is all about the small victories. Like getting yourself out of bed in the morning, eating a full meal, applying mascara because you feel like maybe you could go the day without crying, finding the perfect Christmas tree and seeing your child smile.
Give yourself some grace during the holidays. If putting up a Christmas tree and getting out the decorations is too much this year, then tell Alexa to play some Christmas music and call it good. If continuing traditions makes you happy and more at peace, then have at it. If you need a change and want to try something new, then more power to you.
Whether it be your first Christmas experiencing a loss of any kind or your tenth. Artificial tree or a real one covered in sap and dropping pine needles all over your living room, stop and be proud of the moments you can say, I did it!
I can look back on that picture of my son in the back of our truck bringing home the first Christmas tree we picked out without his dad and say, as hard as it was… We did it!
O Christmas Tree, thank you for the magical memories.