Decorations

When Colby was younger he loved decorating for the holidays. This year I am not up to it but several people suggested a small display in memory of Colby. After giving it some thought I decide to decorate the rose bush I planted at the place where Colby passed. It is still a small rose bush, but it is a Knockout so it blooms here in Tennessee almost all year.

I head to the basement to find suitable decorations but close up the first box I find as soon as I open it. This is the box with all the decorations Colby made. The deer face out of Popsicle sticks, the chain of colored paper circles, the spray painted pine cones. I can't look at them. Maybe next year.

The next box is filled with older decorations. ornaments from my childhood. Fragile. Not at all suitable for hanging outdoors on a rose bush. I finally find a box filled with an assortment of holiday greenery and at the bottom is a pile of small, stiff bows. Colby picked the bows out when he was 13 and he wanted something special for the living room window. It was our first holiday season in our new new house. Next to the bows I find a small, white ceramic dove. I don't remember where it came from, but we've had it a long time. It will contrast nicely with the bows.

I drive to the spot and hang the bows on the rose bush. It is cold and windy and the branches of the bush are still quite small. But, I find some that are strong enough to bear the weight of the bows. I realize they  may not hold up in the winter weather, but they look nice today. Understated, tasteful. And the dove adds something special.

If Colby is looking down I hope he realizes how much I wish this bush was not here, that I was not standing in the biting wind looking at a poor substitute for the many hours we shared hanging holiday decorations. But no matter how much I want to I can't change what is, so maybe Colby will see the love and thought and care that the decorated rose represents. Maybe he will see how much he is missed, how much he is still loved.

I think as I walk back to my truck that I would like to turn into the dove and fly up to heaven, to Colby. I will, someday, but that day is not today. Instead, I wipe my eyes, start my truck, and drive away with a last glance in my rear view mirror of Colby's Christmas rose.