Christmas, Loss, and Frosty

It’s January 1st. Time to strike the Christmas set. Time to strip the house of all of our little gee-gaws and doo-dads — the reindeer mugs, the Christmas Tree candles, the holiday tablecloth, the Christmas cards from our near-and-dear who are scattered hither and yon all over the world. Finally, it is time to take down the tree.

Every year when we take down the tree, I am filled with sadness. There is something so utterly poignant about denuding this beautiful, well — this creature, who has been a most hospitable house guest for the past three weeks. She has silently endured the indignity of being festooned with ornaments and strung with colored lights. She has endured countless hours of my playing the Beach Boys’ Christmas album. She has spread her branches like outstretched arms welcoming our brightly colored packages. She has allowed our cat, Henry, to sleep under her wings, peacefully enjoying her delightful aroma of earth and pine. She has weathered the unending hours of having the fireplace blazing only four feet away, literally sucking the life out of her by depriving her of her moisture. She has beamed her beauty for all, including our little neighbor, Stone, who came over frequently during the holiday season, I suspect, at times, just to feast his eyes on her. But now, it is time for her to leave us.

This year, for the first time, I actually cried as we undressed her. I had thought that this year we would be more lighthearted when it came time to say goodbye. We had made a point this year of spending lots of time with her and enjoying her company. And she never disappointed. So I thought when the first of the year rolled around, we would be able to part company with a sense of completion.

But this is the year that I lost my mother. Whatever that something is we feel when we have to let someone or something go, it was especially hard for me this year. The fact that we had tried so hard to honor her and treat her with the respect and admiration she deserved did nothing to ameliorate the sorrow of her loss. Am I talking about the tree or about my mother? For today, anyway, it feels like it’s all the same. Loss is loss. The harder I try to grab life with both hands and hold on tight, the more I feel it slipping away from me and vanishing into the Great Beyond.

But part of the joy of life, and of Christmas, is that it is not permanent. It has its season, and then it’s gone. But, as with just about anything in life I can think of, it reappears at some point, maybe different in some aspects, but also, thankfully, very much the same in others. Every year I say, “This is the most beautiful Christmas tree we’ve ever had!” — and every year it is true.

So now, I have dried my tears and just about put away Christmas for the year. I will miss our lovely green friend. I will try to remember the parable of “Frosty The Snowman”, according to the Beach Boys: “But he waved goodbye saying ‘Don’t you cry, I’ll be back again some day!’”.

TAKING DOWN THE TREE

TAKING DOWN THE TREE or

THE TREE IS DEAD – LONG LIVE THE TREE!

Today is January 2nd. At last, the holidays, which began some five to nine weeks ago, are over (depending on whether you started counting on Halloween or Thanksgiving). This is our traditional day for taking down the Christmas tree. It is the death knell of the old year. Time to put the ornaments back down in the basement, put away the holiday dishes and the cute little mugs with Santa’s sleigh on them. Time to take down the beautiful green wreath and carefully put away the big, red, velvet bow that graces the Christmas wreath every year. These are melancholy tasks. The saddest moment of all is when we have to drag our seven-foot evergreen out the front door, down the steps, and cut it up into pieces small enough to be placed in the green dumpster on the street for recycling. It hurts my heart.

I tell myself, of course, that the tree was dead to begin with. When it comes right down to it, we buy ourselves an enormous cut flower arrangement every year which graces our living room for several weeks. By cut flower standards, that’s an eternity. And we are so lucky to have had this one for as long as we did. Every year when we finish decorating the tree I tell Art that it is the most beautiful tree we have ever had, and every year it is true. I think that’s because every year I come to appreciate the tree and its symbolism more and more.

Every year at exactly the same time the world celebrates the birth of a baby. Even Jewish people such as myself find it hard to resist the pull of such a holiday. It’s not just the festivities, the gifts, or the Christmas tree, but it’s the much deeper meaning of the celebration. It is the celebration of the rhythm of life. It is the acknowledgement that even in the dead of winter, there is hope. We can afford to be generous, because life is bountiful and replenishes itself with the dependability of the earth’s orbit. Winter heralds spring. And that’s where the evergreen comes in. We see the fulfillment of spring’s promise summed up in this sturdy little tree, which offers soft green pine needles and a heavenly aroma – just when we need it the most. The tree is sacrificed so that we can be reminded every year.

So we celebrate a baby’s birth just as it looks like everything is dying around us. This year, with the tragedy of the tsunamis, it couldn’t be more poignant.

But this year when we take down our tree, as every year, she will shed her pine needles all over the carpet as she is carried to the street. The smell of Christmas will be with us for months to come. We will vacuum the floors, but the essence of the holidays will linger until next Halloween, at least, when we will begin thinking about Christmas again.

Yesterday my sister and her “significant lover”, Jesse, were married in their home. There was a beautiful Christmas tree prominently displayed in front of the window. The whole house was decked out in flowers in various shades of dark red and burgundy flanked by greens. A fire blazed in the hearth. The atmosphere was relaxed and guests ranged in age from twin girls of eight months to the family matriarch, my mom, who has asked that we refrain from citing her age. As the winter sun sank in the west, the windows were open to the cool breezes off the ocean. As I knew I would, I wept throughout the ceremony. The feeling was one of overwhelming love, not just between Michele and Jesse, but overflowing from them to the families, and from the families back to them, and from Jesse’s family back to our family, and from our family back to Jesse’s, until there was a complete, happy circle of love all around. It was the end of one life and the beginning of another.

I imagine that like us, Michele and Jesse will be taking down their Christmas tree soon. The one they bought when they were single will be recycled, but next year it will be reincarnated in all its splendor as they approach the first Christmas of their brand new married life together. They couldn’t have picked a better day for a wedding.

© 2005, Robin Munson

PEACE

PEACE

It is December 26th. There is a hush over our house. My husband is asleep, and our cat, Henry, is curled up at the foot of the bed.

I have just made a brief tour of the wreckage that was Christmas Day, 2004. There are bits of raffia scattered all over the kitchen counter and strewn throughout the house. Pieces of red and green wrapping paper and bits of shiny ribbon no bigger than a thumbnail are distributed everywhere. Our coffee table is littered with melted-down candles of every size and description, and there are rings of purple on the blond wood from last night’s wine glasses. Unwrapped gifts are now placed haphazardly under our tree, which has dried out quite a bit since we first brought it home. We ourselves are happily worn-out and sloppy. I think we probably both gained a pound or two from all the holiday candy, cakes and cookies, which were showered down upon us like manna from heaven.

Outside, I can hear the world moving on. There are trucks and cars already out on the freeway shushing along, although the sun is barely up on this Sunday morning. I wonder where can they possibly be going. But then, I realize that there are people whose lives don’t go on hold just because of the holidays – hospital workers, convenience store clerks, news anchors, the people who magically appear to take your order when you’re just too blown out to cook breakfast.

Today I will slowly regain my equilibrium. At a leisurely pace, I will sweep, vacuum and scrub the floors, wipe the counters, put away the wrapping paper, discard the used candles, clean the glass rings from the coffee table, change the sheets, change the kitty litter, water the Christmas tree and all the other dried-out houseplants, and do the laundry which has been completely neglected for the past week.

It feels as though I’ve been on a merry-go-round for the past month and a half. Time to slow down, breathe, put away the party hats, and get ready for the coming new year. It feels very good, returning to normal, after all the hoopla.

Yesterday my Christmas prayer was for peace. For now, in this house, at least, my prayer has been answered.

© 2004, Robin Munson