Christmas

Today I remember Christmases past. I remember the year Colby was fifteen months old and kicked Santa Claus. The year he was a little more than two and was afraid to sled down my mom's slightly sloping driveway. We made snow angels instead. I remember the year he was three and got the choo choo train and the drum he had been asking for all year, every day, since the Christmas he was two.

By Colby's fourth Christmas he and my mom and I were sledding down the bigger hill in her yard like pros. That was also the year he begged to go to the dinosaur exhibit at the Minnesota Science Museum, then screamed when he saw the first dinosaur and refused to go in. By age eight Colby had graduated to sledding the hills at the local golf course and by age ten he was beginning to snowboard. We built snow forts and snow men (and snow women and dogs) and had a number of snowball fights.

In between the snow, there were trips to other museums, art exhibits, plays, concerts, restaurants, and lots and lots of movies. And board games. Colby always won at Michigan Rummy. And there were always projects Mom needed done. Colby fixed the gate to the downstairs when he was about twelve and it still works. He re-hung closet doors, helped clean out those same closets, and learned to drive on snow.

When Colby was maybe nine, he and Mom and I made cardboard swords and decorated them glitter, beads, and bits of sparkly fabric from my old skating costumes. He made cookies with the neighbor behind us and we went for winter walks in the neighboring woods. He and I checked out the neighbor's houses from the front by walking on the frozen lake, being sure to stay close to the shoreline. We snuggled during blizzards, went to church, and drove around in the evenings and looked at Christmas lights.

I am so grateful for these wonderful memories. Christmas will never be the same without Colby, without family. I struggle with this new reality, in finding my place in holiday doings and the family gatherings of others. For now I ignore them. Colby's loss is still too fresh, too painful. Someday, maybe, the holidays will mean something to me once again. In the meantime I am blessed to have had wonderful Christmases past.

Ornaments

I pull the empty Christmas boxes out of the garage and up the steps to the living room where I deposit them on the living room floor. Then I turn and survey my mom's Christmas tree. It is an artificial tree, a little taller than 6 feet, and it is loaded with ornaments, some of which date back to the 1950s. Each ornament has a story, a history, a place in our family.

I begin to pull ornaments off the tree. one by one, wrap them and place them in a box. Here's the tiny plastic horse jumping over a fence that a friend's mother gave me the Christmas I was eight. Here are the little metal raspberries that our local gas station used to give away during the holidays. Each one is a different color and I remember how excited I was when we got enough gas for me to go inside the station and choose a new one. Here's the angel I got in Hawaii, the beautiful ornaments with loops of hanging pearls that our neighbor made 50 years ago, and the painted birds that look so realistic that every cat we've had has tried to "catch" one.

I make selective picks from the tree, delaying the time when I have to take the loops of colored paper that Colby made when he was three. My hands shake as I touch the paper and tears roll down my face. as I lovingly wrap the paper in tissue and place it in the box. Next is the reindeer head made from Popsicle sticks. Colby made a dozen or more that year, the year he was eight, and gave them to everyone he knew. Then there are the pine cones Colby painted when he was 14, the lovely star ornament he gave my mom when he was 20, and the Snoopy ornament he gave me last year. By this time I have to sit down, the tears are falling so fast I cannot see.

The last ornament is the spire at the top of the tree. This was always Colby's job, to take the spire off and it was one of the last things we'd do before we left Minnesota to head back to Nashville. Mom always had the tree up and decorated by the time we arrived, but we always took it down. Even when he was small, two, three, four years old, I'd lift him up to the top of the tree and he'd carefully pluck the ornament and reverently hand it to me.

I reach for the spire. It's the second spire we've had in my lifetime. This one must be about 30 years old. I am all cried out by this time. The spire is wrapped and packed and I carry five boxes of ornaments back to the garage. I don't know if I can do this again. Next year. Next year, if the tree goes up at all, it may be better to hire someone to take it down, for there are too many memories, too many painful remembrances of the one person who should be here . . . and is not.

Gifts

This is the time of year when friends and families exchange gifts. This is the time of year that Colby and I together would choose gifts and wrap them. Together. He and I.

I am not up for the physical exchange of gifts this year. It doesn’t seem right to do this without Colby. Next year. Maybe. But that I do not exchange gifts does not mean that I don’t have any. I have plenty.

My gifts this year are great friends, strangers who have gone out of their way to help me, clients who keep me busy, my health. My gifts are work that I enjoy; horses, dogs, and cats that I love; a safe place to live. My gifts include wonderful memories of Colby, many things to remember him by, the knowledge he is at peace in a place that is better than the planet on which we live.

While I have lived this year through the worst nightmare any parent can experience, life could be much worse. I could be homeless, indigent, without friends or support. I could be sick, without transportation, or live in fear. My gifts are that I have none of those and plenty of the rest. I also have a sense of peace about Colby’s passing. Today anyway. Tomorrow may be another story. Another day. But today I feel he is happy where he is and that’s all I ever wanted for him, that’s all any parent ever wants for their children. Happiness. I am still very sad, distraught, helpless that Colby could not find what he needed here. I will feel his loss deeply with every inch of my being, every breath I take, every second of every day until it is my time to join him. But that is my sadness, my grief, my loss. Not Colby’s, but mine. This holiday season I know Colby is happy and that is my biggest gift of all.

Premonition?

Last year at this time, as Colby and I drove to Minnesota to visit my mom, he turned to me in the truck and said, “I want this to be a really good Christmas; I think it is the last one we will all spend together.”

I, of course, thought Colby meant my mom might not be around this year. She was 85 last year. At that age, every day, every hour, is a gift. And that is, probably, what Colby meant. Colby had plans, things he wanted to see, do, experience. I know it was not his intent to leave us.

When Colby said those words it never crossed my mind that it was going to be Colby who was not with us this year. If it had, I wonder what I would have done differently? Anything? Everything? I know I would have hugged him more, told him I loved him more. I would have asked him that, when his time came, to find relatives and loved ones who had already passed and tell them how much I love and miss them.

While Colby always felt he would not live to be old, I do not think, a year ago, that he felt he only had a few days left. If he had, I also wonder what he would have done differently. How would he have spent his remaining days? Would he have traveled? Played more music? Eaten more junk food? Spent more time with friends? What would any of us do if we knew this holiday would be our last?

Were Colby’s words a premonition, or just the reality of having an 85-year-old grandmother who is not in great physical shape? We will never know and even if we did, knowing this particular fact would not make any difference. What will make a difference is to let those around us know we care. When we greet friends, we need to let them know how truly glad we really are to see them. We need to listen closer, help and support more, smile when we can, give as circumstances allow. I hope everyone reading this has many, many wonderful holidays ahead, but even more, I hope everyone makes the most of each and every day, whether the days number 100 or 10,000.

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.