Last year I shared this private memory for the first time. With Christmas week upon us, I was again reminded of the secret of the tree...I have never, ever, been a good sleeper. Even when young I slept very lightly and would awaken in the silent, early morning hours, my mind busy with my own version of instant replay. Sometimes I’d tiptoe out of the bedroom I shared with my sister to curl up on the couch and enjoy a few rare hours of privacy and quiet. If it was close to Christmas I would plug in the tree lights and that gentle, multi-colored glow illuminated my thoughts.
When I was nine or ten years old I was awake but warm in bed when I heard a scrape and muffled thud. I slipped out from beneath the blanket and met my mom in the hallway. Together, we peeked into the living room. The Christmas tree had tipped over and ornaments now decorated the carpet. The two of us quietly pushed the tree straight, tightened the screws that pressed into the tree trunk to hold it upright, and used a couple of dishtowels to sop up the water that had spilled from the stand. My dad, three brothers, and sister slept on.
The silver angel atop the tree tilted drunkenly to one side as she supervised our efforts. She’d been pulled sideways by the fall and the weight of her power cord. Mom carefully straightened our cherished tree topper as I scampered behind the tree to plug in the cord. Haloed now by faint blue, the angel smiled down at us, her heart glowing.
That angel is with us still though a hole now pierces her bodice, the heat from the bulb having melted through the old plastic decades ago. So the angel has retired. Each year she briefly supervises my sister’s decoration efforts when fragile old ornaments are unwrapped and admired, reminding us of our youth, of our mother taken from us, too young. The angel’s smile is as sweet as my memories demand, yet it was long ago that she plummeted to the carpet and long ago that my mom died. My tears, though, are as fresh as the day we lost her and the hole in my heart is as real as the angel’s. It shall never mend.
And now, with the holiday season upon us, I thought I would share the secret of the tree, of that long-ago adventure I shared with my mom. In a few days I’ll visit my darling sister. We’ll hug and weep a little and our love will take flight as we cherish the memory of our mom’s gentle smile, now the smile of an angel.
by Janet Fogg
17 comments:
Janet, this will be our third Christmas without our Mom. Although she lived longer than yours, she was still taken too soon.
Mom would carefully arrange every present under the tree according to size, so that each one would be displayed just so. And 99% of those presents would be from her.
Divinity was her special Christmas treat, but she made every holiday special.
This is so touching, Janet. But what a lovely moment you shared with your mom as you took care of the fallen tree. A lovely post.
Peg, I can envision the care taken by your mom to arrange your presents just so - such a sweet memory for you. And making divinity? We used to do that as well. Hadn't remembered that until your post. Thank you so much for remembering and sharing.
Thank you so much, Pat. It was difficult to write, yet easy, since I remember it so well.
Thank God, I still have my mom. But just thinking of that day when she's gone as I read this brought tears to my eyes.
Thank you so much for sharing this cherished memory.
Merry Christmas!
Janet, what a sweet memory. We weren't well to do as children, but we thought so whenever we looked under the Christmas tree each year. Piles and piles of presents. One year my little brother of 5 years old decided to play we were poor. So he took my favorite pair of jeans and cut them into ribbons of denim to decorate the tree. I never let him forget THAT memory that is funny now that the years have passed.
I lost my mom in 2006 and think about her every year at Christmas. Now i want to think back on those Christmases as a child when my dad was still alive. We had a big extended family and always had so much fun together during the holidays. Thanks, Janet, for sharing your precious memory!
Engaging and poignant story, Janet. This is a good time of the year for a reminder that our losses, aren't really lost.
It makes me think about how lucky you were to be a light sleeper.
Oh, that was me. Dave.
Lovely, Janet. Thank you for sharing that never-to-be-forgotten moment in time with your mother.
My mom lived to be 83, but she still left this earth too soon to suit me. Ah well, she's always with me in spirit as your mom is with you.
Merry and blessed Christmas to you and your family
Thank you, Lilly. Give your mom an extra hug from me. Merry Christmas!!
Of course it was your pair of jeans, Jill, not his! What a fabulous, funny memory. (Methinks you have a children's book lurking in that story!)
Ron, you're right, I know. Thank you for the reminder.
My friend Karen R. said her church suggests cutting snowflakes out of photos of loved ones and hanging them on the tree. That way their smiling faces join in the family festivities. Could also just hang small photos. Sweet idea.
Oh, Karen, thank you. Hugs and Merry Christmas and the most joyful of memories to you!!
It's interesting Dave, as I think being a minimalist sleeper has been a blessing, as you point out. I've been given the opportunity to enjoy hours of silence and solitude for soul-gazing or writing or plain, old-fashioned day-dreaming. All good!
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