Memory tree

We put up our Christmas decorations today. It's so much work, but everything now looks so beautiful. The tree is in the living room, the lights are on the weeping mulberry outside and evergreen garland (okay, so it's fake) festively hangs on the fence behind the hot tub and on our banister. It all looks especially pretty with the massive amount of fluffy, white snow coming down today.

Over the years, Michael and I have gathered our own special collection of Christmas ornaments and decorations. I love opening each box and bag to rediscover each one. There's memories, not only from our years together, but also from my childhood.

In 1993, when we started dating, we started the tradition of buying a dated ornament. We've gathered quite a collection and many reflect the events of that particular year. In 1995, we bought one with a little bride and groom mouse to commemorate our wedding, in 1997 and 2001 "Baby's first Christmas" ornaments were added to our tree, in 1999 one with "our new house" joined the collection.

When the kids got old enough, they started getting ornaments too. Noah has Hagrid, Buzz Lightyear and Jimmy Neutron. Tara has some little power puff girl or something. They've also got a few ornaments with their names on it.

Our first dog, Diesel, is remembered every Christmas when we hang the snowflake with his photo. Our current dog, Ginger, is represented with an golden lab ornament lounging on a pillow. We've also got special decorations that reflect our lifestyle and beliefs - cycling Santa (because Michael cycles back and forth to work), a camping mouse roasting a marshmallow, the guitar to represent my musical husband, a mouse reading and of course, a nativity scene and peace dove.

Then we have those special ones that come from relatives or childhood. There's the chimney sweep my Aunt Margie bought in Germany when she was stationed there with the armed forces, the little plastic snoopy on skiis, and red velvet reindeer and mouse I vividly remember from when I was very little, the fire trucks that remind me of my dad's profession and the ceramic ornaments my Grandma Thomas made in 1976 (she died of cancer in 1985). I smile each year when I carefully unwrap these to add to our tree.

Yet, my smile dimmed a bit today when I wondered, "Will this be my last Christmas?" Michael admits he thought the same thing when we were at a family Christmas celebration yesterday. When your life's been touched with cancer, I think it's normal to have those fleeting sad and contemplative thoughts.

I guess they're a reminder to enjoy each day and each season; even when the kids argue about where to place the ornaments. Because that's life, and I'm so glad to be living it.

Tina