I wrote this many years ago and continue to be very touched by the memory:

A few days following the death of my husband, and having to tell my children they would never see their father again, I decided to restore some normalcy into our lives by leaving work in the middle of the day and putting up the Christmas tree so we could all decorate it that evening.

I got out the step ladder and hauled my lackluster self into the attic of our old house to get the tree and decorations. Once that struggle ended I found myself sitting on the floor in the living room trying to reconnoiter the pieces into something that would resemble a tree. The paint was worn from all the stems so I had no idea how to put it together. As I stuck the branches in the post that was supposed to be the tree trunk my creation shape shifted before my eyes encouraging me to keep removing branches to try other configurations.

This went on long enough for me to decide trees in the house were really a stupid tradition anyway. With that notion I threw the tree across the living room–which wasn’t a big room but time has made it bigger.  When I finished my tantrum I put the pieces of green back into the box and went back to work.

I must have told someone about the ordeal, but I really don’t really remember. My next memory is walking into my house and seeing the most splendid Christmas tree, completely assembled and standing straight and tall in front of the bay window of my now normal sized living room. There were two angels standing with it with radiating love and warmth, care and concern, despite having just lost their son and not knowing any better than their daughter-in-law how to deal with the new reality.

That night after we had finished decorating a whole choir of angels visited our house.  My three kids and I stood together in the hall while the head angel greeted us and then began singing a Christmas Carol. I don’t know which carol, I choose Silent Night when I put sound to the memory, but I see as clear as if they were in front of me now, a sea of smiling, caring faces, crowding close to our front door to sing their love and concern.

Those two events have impacted my life more than I could ever have imagined. They are for me the torch bearers for the outpouring of love and concern from so many angels that assured me I had countless blessings in my life after Jim’s death. Every Christmas for the last 12 years when I put up the Christmas tree I see Glenda and John’s smiling faces standing beside it. When I hear carols I often recall Ted VanMiddlekoop and the Carolers from Bothwell Baptist Church.

I was at a local nursery in Guelph last night looking at Christmas greens and discovered the Christmas trees there were from Sloan’s Tree Farm. Because of the obvious connection I am wondering if it will be okay to replace my 12 year old tree with a real one that grew in Bothwell soil—with all the angels.