On a snowy November day, my daughter Kit and I were dividing four boxes of tree ornaments, each claiming their share. Kit, now living on her own, wanted to set up her own Christmas tree. Unpacking the ornaments brought back memories of loss and grief for children who were no longer part of our holiday celebrations.
Over the years, our family grew and shrank with 23 foster children coming and going. Most stays were temporary, and amidst fostering, our two children became part of our family through adoption. I was surprised to find out that Kit remembered the stories behind each homemade ornament, even those made by strangers. Her holiday recollections differed from mine, which was eye-opening.
As I uncovered a tree topper received during our first Christmas as a newly married couple, memories flooded in. The cracked iridescent angel symbolized our broken marriage, now held together by Krazy Glue. Passing it to Kit, I hesitated, but her excitement was evident beneath her festive hat. She reminisced about always wanting to be the one to place the angel atop the tree, a task she can now fulfill as she has grown taller.
Opening another tin, I found a Santa sleigh and reindeer ornament crafted by an eight-year-old foster child we had cared for. It was a bittersweet reminder of the social worker’s unsuccessful attempt to secure his permanent placement after years in our home. Despite the separation, our love for him remained strong.
Sensing my emotions, Kit took the Santa decoration, recalling how I used to place it near the bottom of the tree for her to play with. She admired the flames on the back of the sleigh, reminiscent of a movie scene. Like our foster children, Kit preferred watching movies at home rather than attending church services on Christmas Eve.
Creating inclusive holiday traditions for our foster children was important to us and our extended family. We adjusted our Christmas dinner dates to allow the children to spend time with their families on Christmas and Boxing Day. Each child received unique ornaments as a symbol of our time together, with the option to keep them or leave them with us as a memento.
Unwrapping a reindeer ornament made of pompoms, ribbon, and googly eyes, memories of our son’s quirky nickname for them resurfaced. Dividing ornaments had been a familiar task since my divorce, ensuring fairness and equality even down to the silly reindeer ornaments shared between homes.
Kit’s reflection on the enduring presence of Rudolph on the Christmas tree, regardless of where she celebrated, brought a new perspective. Her appreciation for continuity amid change was a lesson I had underestimated. As we decorate the tree this year, I look forward to embracing Kit’s joyful spirit, overshadowing any lingering sorrow attached to the ornaments.