I’d nearly forgotten that it was two years ago tonight when my husband Richard passed until I saw a reminder on Facebook this morning.
I surely had forgotten how to celebrate Christmas in the days and years leading up to Richards’s death and right after.
But this year, I awoke from the ghosts of Christmas past to a new Christmas.
And it’s a simpler one.
The Christmas tree and the decorations went in a recent move. But they were replaced with a single garland, a string of lights on the mantle, and a handful of ornaments from my daughter.
I found it was enough.
I then went and bought myself a Christmas gift.
It’s a memoir by a local writer I once knew.
And I opened my door and heart to a new dog from the shelter.
That, too, was enough.
Or maybe more so. Time will tell.
And when I attended a crowded church service this week, I gave up my spot to a father and son who were late.
I’d already sung my carols.
It was time for the young.
After driving home on slick roads afterwards, I checked my mailbox for bills.
I found a small box next to it, covered in ice and firmly glued to the front step.
After carefully prying it off, I found a simple candle inside etched with a tree of life.
It’s bright and full of warmth when lit.
Tonight I see the light.
And it’s glowing right before me through that tree.
I have choral music playing softly on public radio.
And the dogs are at my feet.
Together, we’re singing new songs this Christmas.
Busy making our own kind of music.