Ornamental







Blessings to you, during this difficult time of year for many of us.

I've handled Christmas pretty well since Ian died.  Partly as we'd not really developed/embedded traditions before he passed, partly because I have a very young child who I want to experience and have memories of the childhood magic and joy of the season.

So I bring you my Christmas Eve musing...

Some have a trophy wife; I have an ornamental husband*.

Ian actually hangs on our Christmas tree.  Well, part of him, anyway.

He's up near the top (safer that way, with an active toddler and all).

At our Church's 2012 Christmas community event that we hold in early December, one of the stalls was run by the wife of a Minister from another parish.  Her hobby is glasswork, making jewellery mostly.

But she also makes small amphora for placing a hope or wish in, written on a small piece of paper.
I saw them on her stall, and immediately my mind went to work about Ian’s ashes.   I’d already had some preserved in a glass orb (or as our best man puts it, I’ve turned him into a paperweight), so I asked her if she thought placing some in the amphora would work.  She thought so, and very, very kindly gave me one as a gift.

About a quarter teaspoon of ashes fit into the vial, and I sealed it with some candle wax. 

And so John and I have a new tradition.  For the last two Christmases, we've hung daddy on the Christmas tree.  Ian's still a part of it all, watching over as our son grows in excitement around the season, and as gifts get placed and opened.

I like that.

*full credit for this line has to go to our Minister, and Ian would have absolutely cracked up at it.

Photo: the amphora with Ian's ashes hanging on our tree.

Dead Traditions

One of the many lilies from Seth.

Dear Seth,

I am writing you this letter to let you know that election season has come and gone. 

Obama was re-elected.

I’m guessing you already know this.

So what’s the purpose of this letter?

You see, months ago, when the debuts started, I thought -

“I need to talk to Seth about all this political stuff going on. He’s great at telling me the pros and cons of each party.”

Then it hit me.

We had a tradition I didn't know we had.

You would always watch each party closely, watch the presidential debuts, and then fill me in. I always ignored it all and looked forward to our talks about politics, and I looked forward to seeing your opinion on it all.

As you know, I really don’t care about politics. But I do like to use my right to vote.

As Election Day grew closer, I grew more anxious. The one person I really needed to talk to about the election, is dead.

Once again, a tradition died with you.

A tradition I didn't know we had.

I didn't expect election season to be a huge grief trigger.

But man oh man, did it knock me down.

I remember when I realized a tradition died for the first time.

It was the first Easter after you died.

I woke up Easter morning. Even though my brain knew you were gone, I still expected to wake up to my Easter lilies.

Remember, you bought me lilies every year? And we would plant them together?

It was a tradition we had, that I didn't know we had.

I guess it was just the “norm” for Easter. I guess I expected my lilies. After all, you did it for years. Never once buying me the same lilies twice. So why would you stop doing that now?

For some odd reason, I still expected that tradition to carry on.

My brain isn't able to process that traditions died with you. I still expect the traditions to live on.

The Easter bunny my mom now carries on the Easter lily tradition. My garden is full of lilies from our “before” life, and my “after” life. The Easter bunny brings me amazing lilies now, making sure I don’t already have a certain lily before bringing them.

But who is going to carry on the Presidential Election tradition now? 

They say it’s the little things you miss when someone dies.

For me, it’s the traditions that the “old me” didn't realize were traditions at the time.

Nothing hurts worse than being smacked with a “dead tradition”.