Nature isn't perfect nor is it supposed to be, so of course there are holes in the Christmas tree. Big deep holes with nothing but whispy branches nearby - too weak to hold the lightest of ornaments.
Maybe I was meant to have that empty space - just there on the side of the tree closest to my favorite chair. With no bright distractions I can gaze into the space that leads to the trunk that holds up the branches that hold all the memories of Christmases past.
A piano plays a quiet "Oh Christmas Tree" on my CD player as I think about everyone I've known who has ever lost a parent - even my own parents. I feel a strong need to apologize to them for never fully understanding just how hard Christmas is when they're gone.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to the space without ornaments. "I just didn't know until now."
