The JOY Tree

Shortly after the passing of my mother-in-law Judy, Amy struggled with depression. You would never have suspected it given her bubbly personality in just about every social situation, but she often confided to me her regrets regarding her relationship with her mother. Their relationship was not always the best as Amy struggled to empathize with her mother’s lifelong battle with bipolar disorder.

After losing her mother, she would occasionally fall into a funk. It would come and go, but every so often we would have long conversations regarding her feelings towards her mother and of losing both her parents so suddenly.

As the holidays approached the following year, Amy asked me about making a major change to our holiday tradition to shake her morose mood. She wanted to buy a new Christmas tree and decorate it differently than we had for the past two decades. She envisioned a tree with a burlap tree skirt trimmed with burlap garland and ornaments that contained the word joy. As we added joy ornaments to the tree each year, we stopped calling it our Christmas tree and simply referred to it as our JOY tree.

In addition, we purchased giant letters (J-O-Y) and placed them on our mantle above the fireplace. Each Christmas we would also decorate the letters over our mantle with holiday fare such as pine branches, pinecones, berries, and miniature trees.

The wall that contains our fireplace in our main living room also contains bookshelves on either side. This space would become infested with Christmas or winter decor. From miniature Santas to snowmen, it overwhelms you with the holidays. Amy would joke each year that after Thanksgiving, it would throw-up Christmas in our house. This change in décor somehow helped Amy find some measure of peace regarding her relationship with her mother.

As the seasons changed, Amy would transition the bookcase and the JOY over the mantle to the appropriate season. Sunflowers and bright colors for spring and summer and leaves, pumpkins, and gourds for fall and Thanksgiving before transitioning back to Christmas.

When Amy passed, I kept up the tradition of seasonal décor changes to provide me and the kids with a sense of normalcy. For me, however, transitioning our décor from season-to-season has been one of the more difficult tasks I have faced as a widower.

The first year or two, the kids helped with Christmas and the JOY tree, but now that I am an empty nester again, I have taken on this task alone. As each décor transition approaches, I dread completing them. It never fails to trigger my grief as it reminds me so much of Amy. I am incapable of completing the task without breaking down into an emotional wreck.

The first year, I lost my composure because I couldn’t remember where Amy placed many of the items (actually, any of them). Claire convinced me that I could put them anywhere I wanted to and it would be OK. Then just the memory of unpacking it or where we purchased it would strike me and the tears would flow.

This year, as I took down our JOY tree, I finally understood what Amy was feeling when she jettisoned decades of accumulated holiday décor and started from scratch. The pain of loss is embodied in every ornament and decoration I put up each season. I also realize that my feelings are no longer confined to the décor. This house will forever be the home in which Amy and I built our lives together. Memories of her pervade every square inch of every room.

Being here for the past three years has provided me comfort and I am sure to Claire, Morgan, and Carson as well. We can feel her presence in our shared memories of laughter, joy, tears, and sorrow.

But perhaps I have lingered too long.

As I continue to live in the home we built together, the comfort I once found here has morphed into something else. As each day, week, and month passes, I feel less like I belong here. That the house is somehow no longer a part of me without Amy. It no longer feels comfortable and reliable. I feel like a squatter in someone else’s home. I am no longer a part of its narrative. These feelings restrain me from continuing to move forward in my journey.

As we move deeper into this new year, I sense the approach of another transition. One mixed with sorrow, but also one of anticipation and new beginnings. A new chapter in my life.

My grief journey has been long and difficult. I suspect, however, that the next stretch may be the most challenging and consequential yet. Peace and love my friends.