It would be scandalous to say how good this year has been. I’ve gotten to unknow and start to find myself again. I’ve spent more time with my sons than I thought possible. I’ve had the chance to reflect on an imperfect love that was stronger than I knew. A love that not only survived death, but continues to pour forth out of me.
My mind is stronger, clearer, more aware of what is necessary and what is accouterment.
It started as a joke, but my sons embraced the idea of using our Norfolk pine as our Christmas tree this year. It was a classically “Mary” plant: impossible to keep alive and rooted in history. It had been her grandma Emily’s. I never met Emily, but we did visit her ancestral home (and the Clan McPherson Museum) during our honeymoon travels.
The Norfolk looks like a proud, if awkward, dancer with its single string of lights, standing tall and bright in the pre-winter dark. I was tempted to keep ornaments off of it to remember that a life doesn’t need trimmings to be beautiful, it only needs light.
Then I was reminded that life doesn’t conform to my sense of symbolism. My younger son made a foam picture frame, a tiny thing for which he wanted a special picture. I found a surplus of last year’s Christmas cards and Isaac was seated next to his mom. He asked me to cut out the two of them, which was unusual as he’s a skilled and independent crafter. He hot glued it in place and asked for it to be the first ornament on the tree.
He’s so much like her, sweetly and genuinely sentimental. I could not think of a better way to have Mary with us this Christmas.
God bless,
Jason