I put up the Christmas tree at the Cherry County camp last week. It makes no sense and I argue with myself about it, because I spend so little time in that house. But I don’t do it for me, but in memory of my dad and my children’s father. Christmas was a big deal for them both.
Dad apparently didn’t have a tree when he was a kid, but he made sure we did, from the time I was big enough to appreciate it. He always let me tag along to cut a branch from one of the precious pines he had planted on the hill back of the barn. Even cutting one branch was a big sacrifice—he had carried five-gallon buckets of water to each tree so they would thrive.
When our kids were growing up, my husband and I took them each year to cut a Christmas tree in the canyon on the ranch where he was raised. Choosing the proper one involved much discussion, but their dad always won because he carried the saw.
Later last week, I put up the tree at the home I share with Bruce. I usually do it when he’s gone, because he informed me early on, that his choice of decoration would be a sign saying N O E. No “L.” (Yes, he has that kind of sense of humor.) So, I don’t do our tree for him, or even for me, but for all the kids who have never had a Christmas tree, and for the grownups who would just like to go to bed and cover their heads until the holidays are over. All that pretending to smile and be joyful while your heart is breaking because of a lost job, dying friend, family member afoul of the law, marriage in trouble, or because you are all alone and everyone else seems so happy.
But you put up a tree, bake the cookies, shop, and smile, anyway. You do it for the kids, your parents, or the friends who worry about you. You want them to believe you are okay, even if you know better. That they will be okay. And of course, nobody believes it because that smile doesn’t go all the way to your eyes. Theirs doesn’t either, but you don’t notice, or if you do, have a clue how to make it better, so you all go on living a lie.
2021 hasn’t been all we hoped for. The world is in turmoil, your neighborhood isn’t as safe as it used to be, and a lot of us are living on the edge. None of us know what to believe, or where to turn for comfort. Days of short sun are difficult for me and when trouble looms, I go deeper into the seasonal affective disorder. So, my theme song is, “If We Make It Through December.”
I don’t know any cure for this, but the medicine that seems to alleviate sadness is doing something for others, making amends, praying for those you resent, and starting over in the broken relationships. So, I put up the trees. I’ll write some greetings, offer an apology, a hug, and a listening ear, and I’ll ask you, who are in the midst of the hustle and bustle, this question. Who are you doing it for? Because if you can’t do it for yourself, it helps to find a memory, or a person who needs encouragement, and do it for them. Some people call this “keeping the faith.”