Every year, I vow I won’t buy more ornaments. We already have more than the tree can hold, to the point that I want to buy a couple more small artificial trees when the post-Christmas sales hit.
Every year, I break that vow. I haven’t bought a lot of them this year, but I couldn’t resist this little bird I found at AG Antiques in the Heights.
Lovely ornament. It looks somewhat ethnic.
My parents had two trees – and still there wasn’t enough room for all of Mum’s ornaments. I haven’t put half of my decs out this year, but what I have put out are pretty.
It tickles me that she had so many ornaments and yet doesn’t surprise me that she would. Recently when I was on LJ reading, I revisited some of the photos you’ve shared through the years. Even without the words and stories that went with them, it was so enjoyable to see photos of your parents again.
Yeah, she bought something (several things) new every year and soon ran out of tree space. Christmas without them simply isn’t the same, though I have a lot of things to remember them by.
No, it never will be the same.
I exchanged texts with one nephew’s mother recently, and she said that the best Christmases were the ones in the small town where my parents lived when I was in the last years of high school and throughout my college years. The family was big, the grandchildren were young, and everyone lived near enough to be together on the holidays. It was a time worth the memories and the nostalgia.
There have been times when I thought I would never feel certain emotions again, joy being one of them. I was wrong. I can’t have times back. I can’t duplicate them. But I can open myself to those moments offered by others–living creatures (human and animal), places, nature, the witnessing of acts of grace and kindness–that offer me joy again. Everyone who loved me who has died would want that for me. I honor those relationships by letting myself feel fully, as we felt during our best times.
Some of the ways they lived and choices they made are a guidebook for me. Hands down the best wisdom I ever got was from a little book I read after Steve died, which I can paraphrase as, “Healing from grief begins when we stop saying ‘what if’ and start accepting ‘what is.'” That has become a mantra for me, not just about grief, but about other challenging times and about anxiety. I won’t lie: It’s a struggle sometimes.