Reposted from October 19, 2023
Raising 4 children in our home meant Christmas was a hectic time of gift secrecy, nonstop cooking and decorations everywhere. I always put up a traditional tree filled with the wonky ornaments my children made in grade school, ornaments given to us on the birth of our babies, treasures from both my own tree growing up and my grandmother’s tree. It was a lovely multigenerational tree of our family’s heritage.
Then the unthinkable happened. Our youngest daughter, Amy, died one October night in 2015. Lost in grief, I coped one day, one hour at a time until suddenly the holidays were menacingly close. I could not face those boxes of ornaments and decorations in the attic, and yet the house, bereft of its Christmas attire, felt even more empty.
Our oldest son, Chris, and his spouse, Rea, had been staying with us during this season, and our two children, Russ and Vivi, would soon return home. One morning, Rea looked at me and said, “let’s just go buy a new tree and some new decorations. Let’s start a new tradition.” What a thought! In the stores that year were ornaments in bright pinks, greens, blues and reds. I felt drawn to these cheerful colors, colors I knew Amy would love, colors that Rea loved too. I bought a tall skinny white tree to show them off and dragged it all home. We put that tree up with laughter and tears, and just like that a new tradition was born of both love and need.
Eight years later as I continue to put up Amy’s tree, I decorate it with the same care that I once gave my original tree. I wonder at the resilience of the human heart that can allow new pathways of hope amidst loss. I think of the love and strength Rea gave me as I blindly moved forward, and I think of Amy, who’s life, energy, and creativity is now celebrated in the tradition of my most untraditional tree.
~Lisa Kiel
