The Christmas tree in my apartment has always been taller than me. It’s wide and tall, standing at about 6 feet. The ornaments are always alternated year to year — gold, red, silver, blue. Its artificial branches are piled up in a box made up by mostly tape at this point.
Over the years we’ve lost the Nativity scene that stood guard at the base of the tree, at least 6 of our brave tree toppers (angels, stars, etc) have gone MIA and entire strands of lights have the power to stop working all at the same time.
And, yet, prepping the Christmas tree has always felt like coming home. You grow up knowing where to place each frame ornament and where the glass ones should go. You learn to leave space between the branches for envelopes come Christmas Eve. I learned to angle the tree just the right distance away from the couches because presents were no joke at home.
Things are different this year.
I don’t know whether to leave space for envelopes anymore because the envelopes used to be my grandmother’s doing. Putting up ornaments has turned more into a task that has to be done, rather than something that’s enjoyed. 2014 is the second year my little cousin and I put up the Christmas lights together; I’ll never forget that the first time we did it was smack in the middle of the time when my grandmother was sick.
Putting up the Christmas tree is, for many, the start of the holiday season. This year we put it up the Sunday after Thanksgiving and haven’t stopped thinking about how our first holidays without my grandmother will be like ever since.
Image: WeHeartIt
