I sit here in the quiet of our small living room, enjoying the colored glow from the not-so-large tree purchased from a friend whose family has been growing Christmas trees for generations in these mountains. Ours is not one that would be featured in Better Homes & Garden. It is much more superior. It is stuffed with ornaments I will cherish forever, made by tiny hands that have now totally outgrown mine. One day I will pass along that favorite glittered bread dough star. My eyes will overflow with tears of joy and sadness that a mother embraces. My little boy no longer needs that chair to help him place the Christmas star. I only pray he will always need me.
(This is a rewrite from one of my 2009 facebook posts. Still working on getting this year's tree done. The little boy who no longer needs that chair? He's a teenager with a broken ankle and needs help staying steady on his crutches.)
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