Mom and dad decided that they'd get a fake tree this year. I am saddened by this. I was always so proud of the fact that year after year we cut down our own tree, hauled it home on top of the car, and worked for hours to make the crooked trunk appear straight in the stand.
But without even asking me, they decided to take the easy way out. Honestly, I don't blame them one bit. I'm not there to help–cutting, putting it up, decorating, watering, picking the pine needles out of the carpet. And I know they don't have time to do these things themselves. But it won't be the same. And I feel like we're giving in. And another part of my childhood has died. As if last year wasn't hard enough without Chris, now the tree is gone too.
Maybe it seems stupid. I acknowledge that. Maybe I am just a sucker for tradition. Or maybe I just like the smell when I come home.