Finding the “Pickle”…
Several years ago, I found myself alone in our home staring at our Christmas tree so beautifully dressed and ready for Christmas.
I must admit Christmas does not hold the warm memories for me that it holds for most people, but I was graced with the love of a man who adores Christmas. He loves every little moment of it. He has passed this love to me and to his children.
In that silence staring at the tree with the afternoon light pouring in through the windows, I wrote this little essay Finding the Pickle. This is my gift to all of you as we walk into the Holiday weekend. Never forget how much you are loved even if you cannot feel it. It is deep within, holding you. And we, as a community, are holding each other.
Happy Holidays.
Finding The Pickle
My husband, admittedly, creates the magic in our house during each Holiday season. Every Holiday is recognized with decorations passed down through the generations. All memories from our grandparents, great grandparents, our life as a couple and our three boys contribute to the patchwork of decorations that magically change the hearts of those that walk through our door.
One tradition my husband continued as a father was to hide a pickle ornament in the tree each Christmas season. Ever since the boys were small it was always a race to who could find the pickle first. The triumph upon finding it was as glorious as the size of their eyes when they came downstairs to discover their belief in Santa was real.
Our youngest son is twenty-one now and he announced this morning that he spent thirty minutes searching for the pickle in the tree last night while the house was quiet and asleep to no avail. And so, the competition begins. I imagine our other sons will sneak in the house and look for the pickle in the tree while we are all sleeping until one of them is the proud victor!
I had never had the desire to participate in this yearly ritual until today when I, unusually, found myself alone in the house with the tree sparkling in the sunlight staring back at me. It was almost daring me to “find the pickle”.
I cautiously began culling through the ornaments and as I did, I gingerly held a mirrored ball that my mother loved so much. I felt her love in every fiber of my being, and I cried. “I miss you mom”. I found a golf ball ornament that had my dad’s name on it and one of his favorite courses. “I miss you dad”. I thought back to the Christmas’s of my childhood and felt the love of my parents, my grandparents and my many brothers and sisters surround me. The tree was a mirror of my life and those that went before me.
I touched the ornaments that commemorated our wedding, our children’s births, school years and beyond. I was watching the years go by of each child and holding the love held in each memory. The tree represented all that we were, all that we have become and all that we will become.
As I stood back from the tree, tears in my eyes, I could see and feel each of our beautiful spirits. It was a trail of hard times, good times, challenges, pit stops, failures, triumphs, tears, laughter, division, anger, comfort, closeness, trust, falls, loneliness, darkness, light and ultimately… family.
There it was…I saw how my children must see me, like I always saw my mother and how she saw her mother and how their children will one day see them with complete love.
And so it must be: this magical light that brings my children back each year to hunt for the ever-elusive dill pickle in the tree. It is their moment where they must know that no matter what they are loved, they matter, and they are accepted just the way they are.
As we all should be.
Until next time, friends.