Category Archives: Adult Children

Oh, Christmas Tree

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In 64 years I’ve never come to December 22 without having had a Christmas tree. Nate and I were married on Thanksgiving weekend, 1969, so Christmas was right on top of us when we returned to our small apartment after a four day honeymoon. He was in law school, and we owned virtually nothing. Our three small rooms were empty except for a card table, two chairs and a Murphy bed that pulled down from a closet.

One day in mid-December I said, “Hey, we just have to get a Christmas tree!” While on our honeymoon in downtown Chicago, we’d each purchased a tree ornament for the other with a plan to add one ornament per person per year until our tree was full. We had only two ornaments in 1969, but by 1979, we figured, we’d have twenty!Meg with ornament 13Nate with ornament 13

Before we chose a time to go tree shopping, Nate came home from class dragging a surprise up the three flights of stairs to our apartment. Knowing I loved surprises, he knocked on the door and said, “Open up for Santa!” There he stood with a Christmas tree as tall as he was and a smile a mile wide.

When I saw it, I burst into tears, confusing him completely. We’d been married only two weeks and by comparison to today, knew very little about each other. What I’d neglected to tell him in reference to buying a Christmas tree was it had always been a big family affair during my childhood. We never got a tree until all of us were available to go Johnsons by tree 2hunting together, and we looked at and touched every tree in the white-bulb-lit lot before deciding on our purchase.

Once at home, my family would put the Lennon Sisters Christmas LP on the hi fi, fix hot chocolate and string the lights in preparation for unpacking the ornaments, each one accompanied by a memory to tell. The task was shared in every way, complete with picture-taking. If my dad had arrived dragging a tree through the front door on his way home from work, we’d all have considered it full-on rebellion!

Poor Nate. He had no idea. He did his best to understand as I blubbered out the reason for my tears, and eventually I rallied when he promised forever-after we’d go tree shopping together. For 39 years he kept his promise, even though we had lots of kids who were always growing older making it increasingly difficult to buy the tree as a group.Nate, trees and babies

As for our ornament plan, that first year I chose a fragile blown glass sphere that didn’t even make it to the second Christmas tree in one piece. Nate’s choice was a durable plastic ornament I always called “the stoplight” because of its resemblance. We still have it.

This week Nelson and I wondered whether or not we should get a Christmas tree. Most of his siblings were working in the Chicago area, and we were in Michigan, traveling toward them on the weekends. While we were trying to decide, I said, “I don’t feel much like having a big, well-decorated tree this year, although the lights are comforting.” We weren’t sure what to do, as we aren’t sure about so many things lately.

We decided to compromise by saying “yes” to a Christmas tree but not the kind we’d always had, an eight-to-ten foot evergreen, thick and full all around. We’d choose a smaller model and find it somewhere in the woods ourselves. The process took only a few minutes, and our tree was “cut down” with a pruning snips. The task wasn’t complicated with a trunk the width of a thumb.

Nelson constructed a tiny wooden stand from pieces of kindling, and we clipped on a short string of 25 small bulbs, the thin branches barely able to hold them. As we stood back and surveyed our work, Nelson said, “It’s the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.”Charlie Brown Tree

I looked at it and pronounced it the perfect Christmas tree. “It looks exactly like I feel.”

“Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior and my God!” (Psalm 43:5)

Different (by Nelson)

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Last night Mom wrote her blog entry about our outing to Marshall Field’s.  I woke up thinking about the dinner and the night’s similarities and differences to years past. Some things were the same, some were different. She talked about things that were the same…the lights, the giant tree, zillions of shoppers scrambling to buy and rush home with their treasures, waiting to be seated, and the cold wind in the city.  And then the things that were different.  Marshall Field’s is now Macy’s, even though I couldn’t see much change other than better food.

All of us kids have slowly turned from children into adults…not much interest in having the “Snow Fairy” come by our table and sprinkle silver glitter and wave her magic wand around.  I thought, “It’s hard to get a job these days. I bet that girl doesn’t get more than minimum wage to dress up and prance around like that.  I wonder if she gets high before she comes to work and that’s why she smiles so much.  Then again, maybe she is happy to make the kids happy.”  I hope it’s the latter. We see things through different eyes.  But the biggest difference is obviously Papa’s absence.  No matter how great the night was in every respect, he still wasn’t there at the table.  It tainted the event, “bad.”

This morning, as I walked Jack the dog down to the beach through the snow, I thought about what makes something “good” and something we try to repeat.  “Oh, that was such an awesome time!  Let’s do it again next year.”  Or “bad,” “I don’t know, it just sort of fell flat.  It wasn’t the same.”  What’s the difference?  How do we feel? Who was there?  The weather?  Good conversation? Or did I get that “good Christmas feeling?”  Why are some things “good” and some things “bad?”

I suppose it has to do with pain and comfort.  When I am comfortable and things are the way I expected them to be, I call it good.  When things are painful, uncomfortable, and not what I had in mind, I call it bad.  It is surely painful to sit at a table trying to enjoy a meal with our family when the head of our family is not there.  Grief is present instead of his laugh.  No one can deny that.  It hangs heavy in the room.  To deny it would be like a child whistling in the dark to keep from being scared to death.

This is a forced change.  Now things are different.  No two ways about it.  Different.  It’s different for Papa.  Different for us.  Is it good or is it bad?  I don’t know.  Probably bad for us but good for him.  I believe it depends entirely on my expectations.  If I think, “We will go eat downtown under the tree and it will be just like last year and all the years before that,” then I will probably call it “bad.”  On the other hand, if I think, “Papa is with the Lord now and we will miss him dearly, but we are going through all of this together.  I am going to enjoy these moments while they last,” then the night can be “good” no matter how it turns out.

Today, Mom and I went to Carmax to look at some four wheel drive vehicles so she can replace her van with something safer and more reliable.  We drove into Indiana and did a bit of last minute shopping and mailing before some test drives.  The whole day was filled with great conversation and quality time together.  It turned out to be a really “good” day.   I had no idea it was coming, and because I had no expectation about it being this or that, it was great.

To me, differences are a constant in my life and in my walk with the Lord.  The more I cling to “sameness,” the more handsClayfrustrated, useless, and stagnant I will be.  The more willing and open I can be to His changes in my life, the better.  I have made plenty of mistakes so far that have resulted in self-inflicted pain.  Other things happen and I don’t know why.  I can choose how I respond to the Lord’s dealings with me no matter what happens because I know He works all things together for good.  It’s possible that the only thing “bad” is my perspective.  I usually only grow through pain.

“So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” (Jeremiah 18:3-4)

Trying out Traditions

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Some of my widow friends have advised me to keep family traditions just as they’ve always been in this first year after Nate’s death. Others have said it will be too difficult to stick with the old because Nate will be missing, so new traditions are the way to go. As we approach another “first”, actually a series of firsts, (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day), none of us is sure what to do.

Marshall Fields Sign

Today we decided to continue a time-honored family tradition, eating dinner under the Marshall Fields/Macy’s Christmas tree. Downtown Chicago is always dressed to the nines for the holidays, and Fields in particular goes over the top. Just stepping in off the street causes people to start clicking cameras at the massive glittering displays overhead and in every aisle.

Each year since Nelson was 11 months, Nate and I have taken the kids to the Walnut Room for dinner, late in December. We used to dress them in their festive best and wait up to two hours to get a table. But we were together, and anticipation was half the fun. Nate would walk over from his office three blocks away to get in line as the rest of us  were making our way to the Loop from the suburbs on a train. When the kids were little, the train trip was a highlight, despite frigid wait-times on the “L” platform. Zooming into the subway section of the ride was as good as being at Disneyland.

Fields decorations

When we arrived at the store, we’d find Nate in line with hundreds of other traditionalists. He’d say, “I’ll hold the coats if you want to run around the store.” His arms filled with hefty winter wear, mounded nearly to his eyes, and he’d holler after us, “Check back every fifteen minutes!”  These days Fields/Macy’s hands out pagers, and we have the convenience of cell phones, so no one has to wait in line. The down side is everyone has to hold their own coat.

There were just six of us this year. Our Florida family is readying for the birth of their baby boy. Our British family is saving their dollars anticipating spring-time twins. But the other five kids and I decided we’d pursue the same plan as always, dinner in the Walnut Room.

Fields Tree

I didn’t anticipate it would be so difficult. As Nelson and I drove in from Michigan, we talked about how this was Nate’s kind of event, his family gathered around him and good food served in a fancy restaurant with excellent service. He always tipped the waitresses extra, knowing they had families to buy gifts for, wanting to brighten their lives. Sometimes he tipped them 40%. I used to glance at what he handed them and say, “Really? Is that much necessary?” Of course it wasn’t, but on this annual occasion, he always did it.

Tonight as we studied the familiar menus, I looked at the end of the table where Nate always sat and couldn’t hold back the tears. It seemed so wrong that he wasn’t there championing the dinner as he always had. I muttered through my tears, “Papa would have had the lobster bisque and chicken pot pie.” Heads nodded around the table.

“And a sugar cookie,” Lars said, “about an inch thick, mostly frosting.”

Fields Windows, Fam. Picture

We got through it, but it was a major effort. I cried most of the way back to Michigan, longing so badly to connect with Nate on this particular day. Grieving is a slow process, I guess, and falling tears are part of moving forward. It’s encouraging to know, from friends who’ve already done this, that grieving does eventually end. I can’t imagine what that will feel like, but as always, I choose to believe the ones who know what they’re talking about.

“Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.” (Ephesians 3:20)