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This piece is a heartfelt, fictionalized snapshot of one personâ€™s experience. It is not meant to be a judgment about having a Christmas tree. I would love to read about other peopleâ€™s experiencesâ€¦
Sarah had only been to her dadâ€™s house a couple of times since he married Joanne, and her heart raced as she rang the bell. Quincyâ€™s barking calmed her some. She knew that dog loved her.
Joanne wasnâ€™t home, but her presence filled the rooms. Sarah saw her in the framed family photos of strangers, and her dad. She saw her in the decorative plate collection framing the kitchen archway, and in the silver thimbles on tiny shelves in the dining room. And she was in the treeâ€¦
Sarah had always loved Christmas trees. She loved helping her friends decorate them, and she loved hearing stories about treasured ornaments. She loved the way they smelled and the way the lights looked in the dark. She loved the warm cozy feeling they evoked in Christmas movies, but this tree was different.
This tree kicked her in the heart. This tree was proof of just how far her dad had strayed from their family. She didnâ€™t see the dad who wouldnâ€™t let her quit Hebrew school in this house. She couldnâ€™t find the dad who only let her date Jewish boys in this house. She couldnâ€™t find the dad who had raised her in this house.
Sarah was surprised by the strength of her reaction. The tree brought tears to her eyes. She sat on the floor with Quincy, and buried her face for a lingering moment in his soft fur.
She wanted her dad to be happy, but she also wanted her dadâ€™s house to feel like home. She knew it never would. She also knew that she would make her peace with it, but for now, it just felt like another loss.