We Made a Home
We always had a Christmas tree—not because we needed one, but because Douglas once told me he never really had one growing up. So we made sure we did.
Some years the tree leaned a little. Some years the lights didn’t match. But none of that mattered. The tree wasn’t about perfection or tradition. It was about intention. It was how we marked that we were building something together.
Putting up a tree became one of the ways we said: this is our home. Not just a place we lived, but a place we chose to care for.
What the Tree Held
Over time, the tree stopped being about Christmas at all. It held quiet routines—unboxing ornaments, fixing lights, stepping back to look at it together. It held the feeling of being settled, even when life wasn’t.
Each ornament marked a year we survived, a season we shared, a version of ourselves that existed only then. Looking back, I realize the tree carried far more than decorations. It carried proof that we showed up for each other in small, steady ways.
The Year Without One
The last year, we didn’t put a tree up. There wasn’t a conversation about it. We just didn’t. But the absence was noticeable—the missing glow, the quiet corner where something used to stand. Now, every December, I notice trees everywhere. If this has happened to you too, you know how something ordinary can suddenly carry weight.
Letting Go Without Losing Everything
In 2023, I put up a tree for the last time. When the season ended, I donated most of our ornaments to a charity that provides decorations to families in need. This wasn’t about erasing the past. It was about learning how to separate physical objects from the love attached to them.
Douglas always talked about moving forward—not quickly, not carelessly, but in a way that made room for life to keep unfolding. I didn’t give everything away. I kept the pieces that held our story most clearly—the Macy’s bear, the globe, the initials that once hung side by side. Letting go didn’t have to be all-or-nothing.
It could be careful. It could be slow. We made a home. And now, I’m learning how to make it a place for me—while still keeping some memories.
Calendar Reflection
Letting go can feel overwhelming when everything carries meaning. This reflection invites you to move gradually, without forcing yourself to be “ready.”
Reflection Prompt:
What feels hardest to let go of right now?
What could you release a little, without rushing?
What is one thing you want to keep so you don’t regret letting go later?
Gentle Practice:
Choose one small space—a box, a drawer, or a single object. As you sort, remind yourself:
I am not letting go of love. I am choosing how to carry it.
