As I worked at the dining room table tonight, I had my Christmas tree plugged in with the other lights in the living room off. No music, no TV, just quiet. It was nice.
This is the first time in three years I’ve put up a tree. It only stands because my daughter wanted badly to make it happen on her visit the weekend after Thanksgiving. I don’t see her nearly enough.
But in my mind, this is how it’s supposed to be. The tree goes up the weekend AFTER Thanksgiving.
It’s nothing spectacular, but much like my dark living room, I kinda need this light.
Two days after she made the tree’s lights work, my daughter is at home with her mother. I sit on the couch, bathing in the tree’s light like a traveler basking in the warmth of a campfire.
As beautiful as it is, I can’t help but think of all the things I wish were different.
Raising Two Americans 