Last Christmas Tree

Nov. 21, 2012

My uncle “Chubbs” or “Snoopy” as many knew him, was the only real father I ever knew.  December 15, 2012 will be 10 years since he passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at the age of 64.  During the weeks and months preceding his death, though tragic, there were many things for which I was grateful.  Perhaps most of all, I was grateful for the opportunity to be present and be there for him as he was dying – to be able to give back for the many things he had given me, for the knowledge and wisdom he imparted on me, and for the values he instilled in me.  I will always be grateful for these things – so many of which shaped me into the person I am today.

I remember after Thanksgiving that year, 2002, we had planned to go together and get the Christmas tree me, my sister, my aunt and Chubbs.  It had been years since my aunt and uncle had gone through a lot of trouble with a Christmas tree.  Most years, if they put a tree up at all, it was a 4ft pre-decorated, artificial one.  But this year, this year was special and time was of the essence.  Everyone including Chubbs knew this would be his last and so we wanted to go all out. 

The day we were to go get the tree, Chubbs was too sick and weak to go.  Upon his urging, we went without him and picked out a beautiful 6+ foot tall tree – a spruce, as that was his favorite.  We brought it home and got it into the stand as quickly as possible.  In the back of all of our minds the question of when we would lose him circled around and around.  Would he still be with us at Christmas?  “No” I thought, “He won’t” and I shuddered at the thought.  But he was so sick.  He was so weak and he looked so bad.  Thanksgiving was an event for him and it took so much out of him even as he tried to pretend it hadn’t.

We began digging through the boxes of lights and ornaments that hadn’t been opened in years.  We took a walk down Memory Lane and discovered things that had been long forgotten.  We reminisced about Christmases past the whole time we were decorating.  We all laughed and talked and for a short while, the elephant in the room disappeared.  Chubbs sat in his chair the whole time digging through the boxes and handing us the ornaments to put on the tree.  The whole time Frank Sinatra’s Christmas music was playing in the background.  We laughed, too, as we put the annoying musical bells he loved (and everyone else hated) so much on the front door.  In the face of something so devastating, we managed to find a small window of joy. 

When we finished the tree, Chubbs sat back and said, “I think that’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.”   Silence and tears ensued.  Ten years later, I can still hear those words coming from his mouth – in his voice.  I still cry because it was such a beautiful moment.  I know he said that to make us feel good and to express the beauty, not only of the tree, but of the experience that we had just shared together. 

Chubbs did not make it to Christmas.  He died December 15 at home as he wanted to.  As me and my Aunt Jude watched him take his last breath, there was something almost magical about it - a lightness from finally being released from the pain.  I am grateful to have known him.