My Dr Seuss Tree

I made a pact with myself today.

I’m not going to cry. For one day. No tears.

After thinking about Christmas and what it’s always meant—the family traditions and celebrating Christ’s birth—I decided maybe I could do a Christmas tree after all.

Trouble is I didn’t want to put up a big traditional tree so late. It’s a lot of work, and my energy level is unpredictable from one moment to the next.

So in the pouring rain, I decided to go to Lowe’s and see if they had live trees. Maybe even a Charlie Brown tree. J I could picture in my mind what I wanted, and when I walked through the front door of the store, there on the left sat a display of live Norfolk Island pines almost four feet tall. Glitter had been sprinkled their branches.

Perfect!

I hefted one into my shopping cart, added a $2 strand of lights to the purchase, and headed home.

After finding something to place the tree on to give it more height, I went up into the attic and sorted through our ornaments. I carefully selected a few that held special meaning. An angel Josh bought me when he was about ten years old, little wooden ornaments my in-laws bought us when Lindsay was just a baby, some from Pigeon Forge that Lindsay had helped pick out when she was six, and a few others that would hang gently from the small branches of our Christmas tree.

I stood back and surveyed my work. My throat ached, and those dreaded tears threatened to spill. Then I thought about what Lindsay would say about my abstract, nontraditional, wacky-looking tree. My Charlie Brown tree. Although looking at it now, maybe it's one the Grinch or the Cat-in-the-Hat would've picked out. It's very Dr. Seuss-ish, wouldn't you say?

Even though she loved Cinderella as a child and still believed in fairy tales, Lindsay had grown to be a minimalist. I could hear her saying, “It’s perfect, Mom. I like it.”

Her laugh filled my mind, and I smiled.

And my pact?

Well, a few tears did fall, but they didn’t just reflect my sorrow.

I choose to celebrate the joy of my Savior’s birth and the joy of having a beautiful daughter, even if it was only for thirty-three years. I savor the memories of her child-like approach to Christmas each year and how, in the end, she chose to see joy in simple things.

Boy, do I miss her.

Laura

©Laura Hodges Poole