Holiday spirit

December is a month of happenings and memories. When you are moving on from something completely heartbreaking, it is a time of tears and deep breaths. It seems that everywhere we turn right now, there are reminders of exactly where we are. And where we are in my house is a place that is alternately hilarious or so full of pain that it hurts to breathe.
Yesterday Loren and my mother went out in search of a Christmas tree. For the past eight years, that job belonged to Loren and my father. Every year they would don their snowboots and mittens and troop off into the hills to find the perfect trees, one for my parent’s house and one for my home. In truth, their treasures were sometimes some of the most pitiful presentations. Ever. The first tree they brought to my home was so beyond a Charlie Brown tree that I would sometimes sit in front of it late at night and cry at its pitifulness. But the two of them were always so deeply pleased with themselves and their tree harvesting efforts, that never a word was uttered about any of it. Last year was an especially amazing year for Loren because my father passed on to him the all important job of the actual tree sawing. Until last year Loren was only allowed to help with the choosing and dragging of the tree. It was truly a rite of passage in his small life. And in fact, it had such an impression on him that I would often find Loren in the greenhouse over the summer, holding the tree saw and crying into the corner of the room.
So yesterday Loren and Mia went out in search of a tree. Loren had informed her ahead of time that she could not even dream to be the saw girl, that she would be the lowly tree dragger; she was fine with her role. They came back with flushed cheeks and the customary wonky tree. They were both infinitely pleased with themselves and their somewhat sorry tree.
Tonight while I was baking the first of what will likely be 300 peanut butter blossom cookies, Cassidy came in and asked if she could help out. She and I were coming off of a great afternoon and so I welcomed her help. Before I knew it, we were working in perfect unison and talking about the many people we would be delivering cookies to in the next two weeks. It was one of the best moments we have shared in a long time. She was so proficient that I was able to go up and help Loren on the computer while she satyed at the oven and timed the many batches of cookies. By the time I got back to the kitchen, she had baked all the cookies, organized them on cooling racks and cleaned the sink. I was so touched and proud that I almost burst in to tears.
These little moments are what carry me through the days right now. I know that every day I will encounter periods where I am so heart broken over my father and Matt that I will have to excuse myself to cry and rant. But the islands of happiness and whimsy, the moments when Cass looks at me and calmly informs me to leave her to her oven and her cookies or when Loren and my mother create a new tradtition to replace to forever gone ones, these are the times that sustain me. For right now this is Christmas spirit in our broken, sometimes sad and sometimes happy home.