As I lay on my bed, tears staining my face, staring at my new little Christmas tree in my room...I ponder on the changes in my life.
My life has become a constant season of change. As soon as I get used to the changes, something new changes again. Some changes results of actions in my life, some changes through no control of my own.
I thrive on routine and dependability. Change confuses me, scares me. I hate change. I realize this is a strong word, but I do. Even if in the end the change is good and I begin to like, I will always initially hate it.
I am staring at a tree...a tree that is mine, but not my tree. My tree is large and full and green. My tree is spotted with ornaments of my childhood, angels and nativities and beautiful lights. My tree is comfort. It is not my mother's tree, but my tree. A tree that I modeled after my mother's tree. A grown up's tree.
This year I am living in a home where I rent a room. There is a Christmas tree downstairs...it is not my tree. It has no meaning for me nor does it represent me. Realizing that I live in a home where that is all I simply do. I LIVE here, but it is not my home. These are choices I have made. A decision that has it's merits.
I have a tree in my bedroom. This is not my tree. It is small and sparse and white. It does not have my ornaments, ornaments given and made from love. It is a lovely tree, but this tree does not fulfill my need for Christmas spirit. The tree is an attempt to create the feeling of my own tree on a smaller scale.
My spirit is broken this year. Too many things are different. I have seen the changes in the last couple years and they break me down. I am greatly devoted to tradition. Tradition is broken. I have not made any changes in my life that would cause traditions to be broken, yet each year a little more is broken bit by bit.
My family dynamic has changed. My grandpa is not here. I don't hear is deep warm voice calling out to me from the hallway anymore wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving or Merry Christmas. My uncle is not here, sitting in his unofficial assigned seat grousing about all the toys and clothes the girls have gotten for Christmas that he has to figure out how to get back to their home. My brother is missing from too many meals and gatherings because he has to split his time between our family and his wife's. This year saw a turn that my dad couldn't be here because he lives too far away.
These missing pieces create a sadness that stirs deep within my heart. A sadness I cannot fix. I sit here pondering how do I accept that change? How do I make new traditions? How do I put away the fear that so much more can change?
