This year I had given up on having a Christmas tree. I felt too tired. Too sick. And it was too much to think about hauling an oversized prickly tree home, and then no one seemed to have any Christmas trees left, and I didnt have the energy to ask Matt to search for one, so I quietly forgot about it. Instead we pulled out our very small and unassuming fake tree and I thought - "that will do."
And then I woke up this morning and felt a bit better (in myself). But immensely sad. Like the biggest grey cloud was settling in above Sydney. How do you move on when others won't be able to?
But we must. As painful as it is when you are grieving, life goes on. And there's something comforting in that fact too.
I drove past a service station - and lo and behold - a swarm of Christmas trees. I pulled over. I walked in and paid my money. The man who served me said: "Have you got someone to help you get it in your car?" I replied, no. He said: "How are you going to get it in your car?" I told him I'd wrangle it in. He laughed. I thought - clearly you don't know my mother, Chief Wrangler of Things. He told me he'd see if someone could come out and help me. I walked back out. And I wrangled that tree into the car. And before he'd even come out, I was in my car and driving off.
Life's too short not to have a Christmas tree.