The Christmas Tree

When it comes to material objects, I am not the sentimental type; a fact Carlin knows all too well. If we wanted to wax philosophical as to the reasons why we could say it was because of the way I was raised. My parents never really kept much of what we made as children. It could also be a result of the time our trailer was stolen during a move which had all of our earthly possessions in it, one of my earliest memories. Whatever the reason, the fact remains I am not sentimental. So when our Christmas tree decided to die this year, Carlin was a bit befuddled by my rather emotional reaction.

We inherited the Christmas tree from my parents a few years ago. This was the tree we had during my teenage years and is probably about 15 years old. It's a tree my Dad meticulously wrapped every single branch with lights, Temple Square-style. (If you've never been to Salt Lake City Temple Square during Christmas time then Google it and then put that image into your living room. Yah...). The tree had so many lights we didn't bother taking them off year-to-year, instead we put the tree away lights and all. It's the tree that I've spent the past five years swearing under my breath as I wrestled with the lights, trying to figure out which strand was burned out then trying to find the single light that needed to be replaced. Every year we have proclaimed it's time for a new tree and every year we've found reasons not to buy one.

Until this year. This year, when plugged in, half of the lights wouldn't turn on. That alone might not have swayed me but then branches started falling off the tree. It was time for me to admit the tree needed to be retired and that's when the emotions came to the surface. Carlin tried to remind me that this was in no way symbolic of my Christmas memories, that I would always have them to treasure and hold. However, he doesn't realize how much Christmas means to me.

As I sat there for over an hour, unraveling all twenty strands of lights from the tree, I also unraveled my years of Christmas memories. Christmas has always been more than just another holiday for me. It's meant way more than presents and food. It's been my constant, dependable event in my life. We moved a lot as a kid and I never had a lot. But Christmas... ah, Christmas was a time for magic. It was a time for miracles.

There was the year we moved the day after Christmas and my parents opted not to get a tree. My brother and I were so disappointed that my Dad made a tree out of paper and taped it to our wall. We made paper ornaments to go along with it and it was as good as the real thing, if not better.

One year we had no money, but that didn't stop my Dad from providing a tree. "Aubrey," he said, "we are going for a walk." On our walk we collected fallen, dead tree branches. When we got home my Dad tied them together, put them in our tree base and strung them with lights. My brother, sister and I picked out the lightest ornaments we had to hang on the tree. Everyone who came to our home that year thought it was so awesome.

Then there was the year my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. My Dad stayed with Mom at the hospital through the night while I stayed home with my siblings. Even though my parents weren't there I made sure to turn on the Christmas lights. Christmas was spent with my Mom recovering from surgery and a year of radiation looming over our heads - but for one day we gathered around the tree and let our worries fall away. That year our friends came out in droves bringing us perhaps one of the best Christmas dinners we've ever had.

Christmas has been a time for family. It's the time we watch Christmas movies, make cookies, sing along to carols, and spend all day playing games. It's silly for me to be so emotional over a tree - I mean, even my own parents have moved on and now have a miniature forest of Christmas trees in their house. But that Christmas tree did represent something for me. No matter what happened in our lives or the economic hardships we went through, Christmas was always there and it was always special. There were lights and decorations and music and always, always the tree.