Taking Down Christmas

Like waiting for someone to die,
The solemn task hung over the day.

Then evening came,
The dinner dishes were put away,
And it was time…

…to take Christmas down.

The tree was the center of attention.
First the tree skirt was folded and put away.
(Will it miss the kittens who so enjoyed nestling there?)

Then the tree ornaments, holding decades of memories, moments, and magic…
Each gently taken down and put in its proper place (storage boxes become a part of the family too).
And finally the strands of lights.

All this done by my determined wife.
Like a mother who ignores her crying child and relentlessly digs the thorn out, she preforms her sad task with efficiency and long familiarity.  

Call me sexist, but taking down Christmas is mostly women’s work.  
It is too delicate for a man’s rough and clumsy hands.

Like Mother Mary, our women are the treasure keepers,
The keepers of our memories and traditions and faith.  
Taking down Christmas is their sacred work.

I did do my part—the heavy work.
As gentle as I could, I dissemble the tree, hugged the branches in on themselves and like laying a deceased loved-one in their coffin, 

I laid the memory tree in it’s box and closed the lid and carried it to its resting place for another year.

It is late…

The manger scene and other Christmas keepsakes will have to go in their boxes tomorrow.

Afterall, something as precious, and as important as Christmas can’t be put away in a day.

Taking down Christmas is a little sad,
But new Christmases can’t come if you don’t take down the old ones.

Life can and should moves on…