“Why oh why” grumbled Lucas, “Does our family tradition have to include getting the tree on the coldest frigging night of the year?” Minus 37 with the wind-chill – a new record.

A major hurdle has been negotiated and I am so proud of all of us.

Decorating a Christmas tree has always been my favorite part of the holiday season. Even when I was in high school and living at home on Ave J, I would drag a Charlie Brown tree home from Mayfair Hardware and decorate it with ornaments purchased at the Army and Navy store (some of which are still around). I was a tinsel user from way back until I met Greg who was not a big fan of the stuff (more conflict ensued as we discovered that I was a gentle draper of tinsel and he was a thrower of tinsel clumps.) But I stuck to my guns till the boys were old enough to have an opinion (“it looks stupid mom”) and I was out voted.

Once we moved into our home and had the advantage of a cathedral ceiling (allowing for very tall trees), and once the boys were born and became part of the annual tree decorating tradition, things got a little out of control. Gone were the days of my beloved Charlie Brown tree – replaced instead with manly monsters that had to be wrestled into the house and secured with additional bolts and strings to prevent them from tipping over and taking the house with them.

There was the year we tried a different tree vendor and discovered as we were setting up the tree that it had been sprayed with a sickly green colored fire retardant that had everyone breaking out in a rash and hives.

There was the year we bought the most perfectly shaped, perfectly colored blue/green beauty of a tree – only to discover that “trimmed” meant none of the branches actually had the strength to hold an ornament.

The best year ever though, was the year Greg dragged in a 12 foot monster, at least a foot of which bent over at the ceiling once we hammered it into the stand. “Are you sure it isn’t too big Clarke?” I asked. “No worries” said Greg as he cut the final string. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Children flew. Lamps were broken. Paintings were knocked off the wall. It was a pine scented, sap spraying Christmas explosion as the tree unfurled itself to its full 8 foot wingspan. The boys loved it! They slept under its branches every night that year and fondly referred to it as their “Christmas in the forest”.

This year finds us scaling back a bit – not quite to the Charlie Brown tree of my youth, but certainly smaller, easier to set up, less time to decorate. I have been dreading Christmas since the day Jordan died and   I honestly did not think I would be able to find the courage to even fetch the box that holds the decorations, let alone touch the ornaments that Jordan’s hands have touched so many times over the years.

But as December arrived I found myself wanting to provide Lucas with some sense of stability, some way to reassure all of us that we will make our way through. So we talked about it as a family and the tree was bought. And we survived.  We didn’t wallow, we reminisced and even laughed. I was determined to make Jordan part of it all, so we lit his candle and hung all the decorations that Jordan had made over the years. And we talked about the ornaments that represent special moments; like the Christmas we went to Disney World, the Christmas spent in a hut in the middle of the Abel Tasman trail in New Zealand, ornaments representing their favorite things, like hockey and soccer. And we found some joy in the remembrance of those priceless family moments.

I am well aware that I am still very much cushioned from reality. That some force is at work protecting me from the full pain of this unbearable loss. I like to imagine that it is Jordan’s gift to us – this ability to remember him and love him and take comfort from the familiar traditions we have always shared during this holiday season. But still, it is so very hard.

Small steps. Deep breaths.