One Ornament

Raw is a word that I've used to describe myself. I've shared my struggles to conceive, I've shared life challenges, mistakes, and growths to teens at youth group, and am just an open person. My perspective is that maybe my story will hit someone and help them in some way. Never has a story I've shared gone without a person reaching out saying it's hit home in some way. I know I speak about things that others may not, but that's me. And any choice you make in life, you'll have a percentage of people that agree and support and a percentage that disagree and have strong opinions against. Life isn't about pleasing the masses; that's impossible.


I spoke about the difficulty I'm experiencing with the holidays. The newness, the traditions that I'm rewriting, the people I'm missing this year, the reopened wounds that were just beginning to heal. Well here comes another big one: Christmas.

I LOVE Christmas. I've been known to start Christmas music in my classroom after Halloween. I love Advent and reading the Advent calendar each day. I love the music, playing it on the piano, singing it at home, at work, in the car, and at Mass. I love the togetherness, the memories growing up, the get togethers with my huge Italian family, the time with my mom's side of the family in Colorado. I love preparing my heart and home for the birth of Christ. I love keeping Him hidden from the manger scene until Christmas Eve. I love the smell of my Fresh Balsam candle and cinnamon, the lights on the Christmas tree, the crisp air, the red and white candy cane stripes. I love reading "A Special Place for Santa" to my students to remind them that even Santa worships Our Lord. I just love the Advent and Christmas seasons.

And this year is different. Yes, I still love that I'm preparing for the birth of Our Lord. But the rest, it's just painful. Those feelings I felt back in May when this all "began" are daily reminders of those I won't see this year, how different my holiday will be from here on out, an the loneliness sets in.

I promise this story won't be all sad.

My tree has been especially dreadful this year. A tree that has brought so much joy in the past years. I remember picking it out and knowing it was the exact tree for the house. It's stayed up until well after Epiphany the past few years because it was so beautiful lit up in the window. It's the perfect height, not too full, and has the look of a light dusting of snow on its branches.

This year it's taken all my willpower to get into the "Christmas spirit". I finally brought the tree upstairs to set it up and realized the stand was nowhere to be seen. I have no idea why it wasn't with the rest of the tree or where it is but this was my first hiccup. After days of searching the storage room high and low, I decided to order a stand on Amazon.

When the stand arrived, its measurements didn't quite match and the tree fell right through it to the floor. Thankfully my dad was able to rig it so that the tree would stand in it properly. First hurdle overcome.

It took me a week to get all three sections on the tree; I'd start the short process and end up in tears. When this happened, I'd set the tree aside and decide to wait another day. When it came time to plug in the tree, I realized that the lights in the middle section wouldn't light up. Another frustration that was just too much. This sounds petty but it was taking everything in me emotionally to just get the darn thing up. Each setback was more than I could take. I decided to leave my unlit, unfluffed tree in the corner and mess with it when I had someone with me to do so (to distract me).

Bringing up the ornaments was a whole other ordeal. I knew I'd be bringing up half the ornaments I'd had in the past. And the ones I did have would bring up memories. Then there's the onesie. Five years ago around Christmas we'd finally conceived for the first time, the only time. We announced it by having family members open one of two Christmas outfits and keep them under the tree. When we miscarried shortly after Christmas on the Feast of Holy Innocents, the onesies stayed there. Each year, they've been placed under the tree as a memory of that one Christmas we were a family of three. To pull out the outfit as a now family of one was just more than I could bear. So I left the wonky tree, still unfluffed and unlit, without ornaments.

Well, that's not true. I had one ornament. A few weeks ago, I purchased a single ornament on Small Business Saturday. It's a wood slice ornament with Kansas and Home written where Wichita is. This would be my tree this year.

It felt very analogous to my life. Things just didn't seem to be going right, and there was this one ornament. At the same time, it was my tree, the tree I've loved, and it was as much as I could do.

I realize this may come across as overly dramatic and that many others have life far worse than I do. 100%. But this is where my heart has been this year and during these few weeks. Again, I'm raw.

Side note: I'm incredibly proud of the way I've handled this curveball to the stomach this year. Never in my wildest nightmares would I have expected I'd be where I am. But I've surrounded myself with a  support system, am in necessary groups, counseling, and spiritual direction throughout the process in order to work through the trauma, Yes, many would keep all of this private but I see no reason to hide how I've maintained a healthy coping and healing process. It couldn't have just happened on my own doing.

I brought this tree situation to counseling last week. I explained the lights, the stand, the decorations, the pain, and the one ornament. The advice was given that I could be coping with drugs or alcohol and I'm not, and that I need to accept where I am right now. If one ornament is all I can do this year, then that's what I need to be okay with. And that's okay.

The following day I went to work and shared this story at lunch. I shared that I was going to just be okay with my one ornament and that the pain of getting out the box of what I have was just too great this year. After lunch, I went along with my day as usual.

That afternoon, a student came back from a restroom break with a Christmas bag and set it on my desk. He simply said, "This is for you." He wouldn't say another word about it.

I opened the bag to find several beautiful ornaments wrapped inside. Immediately the ugly tears overcame me. Students were announcing to one another my state and checked on my sanity. :-)

Later that afternoon, I checked my teacher mailbox and found two more ornaments. Tears again.

This has continued for the past week now. Bags left in my classroom and in my mailbox throughout the days. And more and more tears.

These ornaments have been a reminder that I am carried. I have loving, supportive people around me that truly care about me and love me. People that want me to know I'm not alone this year.

I shared this at counseling earlier this week. I shared how touched I am by these thoughtful, heartwarming gestures of love and kindness. And after I shared, she stood up, walked over to her desk, and grabbed an envelope with my name on it and an ornament attached.

More tears.

This Christmas is still difficult. But I am overwhelmed by the love I've experienced and am going to enjoy a tree full of this love and support for years to come.