Oh Christmas Tree – Gram Style

Some years ago, perhaps 10 or 11, before the onset of the Dementia (or perhaps it was even a result of the early onset), during a visit to Gram’s house, I noticed a big stack of boxes in her laundry room.  There, in the middle of the floor, stacked high, were the boxes containing her Christmas decorations and tree trimmings.  It was July, so I was obviously curious.  “What’s all this,” I asked.  “I’m throwing it all out!” she exclaimed.  “I’m cleaning things out and I don’t have room for that shit here.”  “Oh,” I said, thinking she’d never really throw the stuff away, because I had tried to help her throw other stuff away before and she would pull it back out of the garbage.  To my surprise, she did throw it all out – ornaments from years and years ago, lights- the big, round frosted ones that I always loved so much (and that you can’t buy anymore), the liquid lights that bubbled liquid while they were lit- all of it, gone.  I was surprised, disappointed and saddened.  My fondest childhood Christmas memories were those that involved Gram and there were always decorations and a beautiful tree with lots of presents under it.

Gram always cooked for Christmas Day and I spent the day there with her and Jude.  (When Chubbs, Gram’s son was alive, he too, would be there.)   As Christmas approached that year, I kept asking about a tree.  “No, I’m not getting a Goddamn tree.  Why do you think I threw out all that shit?  I’m not doing that anymore; I’m tired of it!”  “It’s Christmas,” I’d say.  “We need to do something.” 

At one point, unbeknownst to me, she had gone to Walmart and bought a 3-foot fiber optic tree on a little stand that rotated and gave off light through a prism.  The branches were very fine and coated with a white substance to mimic snow and as the base slowly spun, the fiber optic strands lit up in beautiful colors.

 

One night when I was visiting, I brought up Christmas again.  “I can’t believe we’re not even going to have a tree for Christmas,” I lamented.  Making no comment, Gram marched into the laundry room and came out carrying a box.  She pulled the tree out of the box, plopped it down on the end table that was next to the sofa, and said, “Now there, there’s your Goddamn tree!” 

And so it’s been every year since then.  Each year as I pull the tree out to take it to Manor Care, I can’t help but to smile as I remember that day.