This past Sunday Heidi Stevens, a columnist with the Chicago Tribune, wrote about her memories of Christmas trees as a divorced mother and how holidays don’t always look the way you think they should. It inspired me to think back on a particular Christmas about 10 or 12 years ago.
While in college, our daughter was dating a delightful young man whose family lived in a Chicago suburb about 45 minutes away from us. On this particular December, his mother had passed away fairly recently and his father and brother were both out of town. So he ended up staying mostly with us. I will call him J in this post.
Well, we don’t celebrate Christmas. Our family is Jewish. (Full disclosure, I was raised Lutheran but converted. This background turned out to be a plus in this situation.) J was obviously sad, and none of us blamed him for feeling that way. We knew there was no way we could create a Christmas like the one he was missing. But we wanted to do something. I bought a tiny tree, about 3 feet tall. J brought back a couple boxes of tree decorations from his house, and he and our daughter decorated the tree. We had presents, because, Chanukah, so they went sort of under the tiny tree.
J sat by that tree for hours. My heart hurt for him. We welcomed him and treated him like family, but that doesn’t replace one’s family of origin.
Christmas ended and the kids went back to college. Life continued.
Update: J and our daughter ultimately broke up. We don’t have contact with him because it was too painful for him to see us after the break up. He seems to be doing well, now living in a different state, across the country from us.
You can find Heidi Stevens’ Balancing Act on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/groups/254414918544059/) and also on X (@heidistevens13)