On a snowy November day, my daughter Kit and I were organizing four boxes of Christmas tree decorations, dividing them between us. Kit, now living independently, wanted to set up her own tree. Unpacking the ornaments brought back memories of loss and grief for children who were no longer part of our holiday celebrations.
Over eight years, our family grew and shrank as we fostered 23 children. Most placements were temporary, and during that time, our two children were adopted. I was surprised to find that Kit remembered the stories behind each handmade ornament, even for those she had never met. It was eye-opening to realize that her holiday memories differed from mine.
As I opened a box, I uncovered a tree topper my husband and I received on our first Christmas together. The iridescent angel had a crack between its wings and body, held together by Krazy Glue. Passing it to Kit, I wondered if she would want it in its delicate state. Her eyes sparkled under her festive reindeer hat as she eagerly accepted it.
Reminiscing, Kit shared how she had always wanted to be the one to place the angel atop the tree but felt she was never tall enough. We chuckled at the memory and agreed that she had grown enough to do so now. The angel found a new home with Kit.
In another tin, I found a Santa sleigh and reindeer ornament crafted by an eight-year-old boy we had fostered. Made from foam blocks and pipe cleaners at a community Christmas party, it stirred mixed emotions of grief and frustration. Despite efforts, he couldn’t stay with us permanently, and we lost touch after he left. Kit noticed my change in demeanor and took the ornament, recalling how I always placed it lower on the tree so she could play with it.
Learning to make holidays inclusive for our foster children was important to us. Holding our family Christmas dinner on alternate days allowed them to spend time with their families during Christmas and not feel left out of our celebrations. We started a tradition of giving each child unique ornaments, letting them choose to leave it with us as a memory or take it with them when they left our home.
Among the decorations, I found a reindeer ornament made of pompoms, ribbon, googly eyes, and pipe cleaner antlers, fondly named “Big Balls” by my son. Dividing ornaments had been a previous experience for me during a past separation. Kit shared how Rudolph always had a place on the tree, no matter where they spent Christmas.
This year’s tree decorating holds a different meaning for me, as Kit’s joyful perspective overrides any lingering sadness associated with the ornaments. I eagerly anticipate seeing her decorated tree this season.
