We put up our Christmas tree today, since my son will be returning to his Seattle home tomorrow. It’s a fresh tree, which will be decidedly un-fresh by the time Christmas Eve rolls around. No matter, I love the smell and feel of our tree and will enjoy it every day that it’s up.
There are many new-old additions to my tree. Last January, my sister and I divided up most of my parents’ ornaments after their move into an apartment. This year, it feels special to hang ornaments made my grandmother and my mother. There are some glass ornaments that are older than I am. A new layer of memories now hangs on my tree.
As soon as we were done decorating, I called my mother to tell her that her ornaments were now on my tree. “Oh,” she said, “but you need to make the tree your own.” One of the things I love most about my mother is her ongoing concern for me, even in the midst of her own concerns. I look at my tree again, with her comment in mind. There are first, tenth, and twentieth Christmas together ornaments, and baby’s first Christmas ornaments. I see ornaments made by my children at every age. We have ornaments from Andy’s childhood. There are even some questionable ornaments that we wonder about each year, where they came from and why they’re still on our tree.
My mom told me that I need to make the tree my own. As I look at it now with my mother’s ornaments, I feel confident. I see past, present, and maybe even some glimpses of future. It is indeed my own, my very own.
