Wyatt sat at the table sipping his coffee watching Ann pull Christmas ornaments out of the storage boxes and place them on the tree. This was the tradition. He put up the lights. She put up the ornaments. He'd done his part and was now watching her do hers.
He ran his fingers through his hair. He was lucky. He had inherited his dad's thick wavy hair. At 49, there was still no sign of a receding hairline. He did have some silver in there, but it blended into his red hair so well, nobody could tell but him.
Ann had thick hair as well, but hers was dark brown, almost black. It was funny that Rich had ended up with Ann's hair and Barbara had red like her father.
Wyatt thought about his family. He had lost his mother this year and this would be the first Christmas without her. She had been a constant source of love and support in his life, as well as in Ann’s, Rich’s and Barbara's. It would be hard this year without her.
His dad had remarried five months after his mother's death. Dad had found a young thing, only 68, and they carried on like teenagers. His mother would have found it amusing, and so did he. He was glad his dad was enjoying his life.
"Honey."
Ann's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?” he asked.
"Look at this." She held a small piece of paper. He got out of his chair and took the paper from her.
Wyatt, you are eight today. You like music and drawing and computers. Your homework is getting too hard for me to help you, but luckily you are smart and don't need much help. I love you more than anything in the whole wide world. 2014
He studied his mother's funny handwriting. Half cursive and half print. "Where was this?” he asked.
"In here," Ann replied, holding up a box to one of the Swarovski ornaments Wyatt's mother had given them. She had bought one every year from the time Wyatt was born, and had presented the entire collection, along with other special ornaments, to them when they married.
"Huh." Wyatt picked up another ornament. The box said 2009. He pulled the ornament all the way out of the box, and sure enough a small piece of paper was folded under the plastic holder.
Wyatt, you are two. You like garbage trucks, gas trucks, and motorcycles. You are so much fun and are talking up a storm. I love you more than anything else in the whole wide world. 2009
Wyatt and Ann opened every ornament. In each one, a short note from Wyatt's mother was hidden in the back.
Wyatt winced a little when he got to 2022.
Wyatt, you are 16. I know you don't like me very much right now, but I love you. You like BAD music and loud movies. I love you more than anything else in the whole world.
He had caused her so much worry back then. But it was only a short blip in their lives and she was a friend again by the time he was in his early twenties.
His whole life was recorded in the short notes. The year he broke his arm, his high school and college graduations, his marriage, the birth of his children (she was SO excited!), Rich and Barbara's high school graduations. It was all there.
He remembered when he was small and he would help his mother put the ornaments on the tree. She’d tell him she would give them to him when he got married and he couldn’t wait for them to be his. He’d sit and watch the crystal facets sparkle against the lights on the tree and dream of having the ornaments on his own tree. Now of course, he’d give the ornaments up in a second if he could have one more day with his mother.
He thought of something she’d said once when they were discussing the ornaments. How houses, cars, and all the things in our lives are just ornaments. They make life sparkly and pretty, but what really matters is whether you have joy. Because if you don’t have joy, the ornaments in life don’t mean much.
Wyatt had joy. His wife, his children, their silly dog, his career… it was all fulfilling and meaningful. And his mother had been a big influence in fostering his ability to not only create a life of meaning, but also to appreciate it. He missed her every day.
He was suddenly tired. Too much thinking. He sighed and put his arms around Ann. “I’m going to lie down.”
“Ok,” she said with a soft smile. “Good night.”
They kissed and exchanged ‘I love you’s and Wyatt walked down the hall to their bedroom. The house was quiet now with both children in college, but it was full of love and memories.
Ann went to the suitcase in the hall closet and pulled out the last ornament Wyatt’s mother had bought. It was last year’s issue, and she had given it to Ann in January, only a month before she was gone. Ann opened it and looked behind the plastic. No note.
No surprise. It would have been more surprising had there been one considering his mother’s condition at the end.
Ann hung the ornament on the tree carefully. She put the box in the storage container along with all the others, their hidden notes tucked back safely behind the plastic holders.
She shut off the light to join Wyatt in bed, then suddenly turned around and flicked it back on. She took the newest ornament box back out and walked over to the counter. She pulled a piece of paper off the note pad by the phone.
She wrote.
Wyatt, you are 49. You lost your mother in February this year and it was really hard on you. You like music, fishing, and golf. I love you more than anything in the whole wide world. 2056
She pushed the note inside the ornament box and placed the box carefully on top of the others. She made a mental note to go to the mall tomorrow and get an ornament for this year.
Then Ann turned off the light and went to bed.
------------
I collect the yearly Swarovski ornaments with the goal of giving them to Wyatt when he gets married. I write notes and hide them in the back and when I was putting the ornaments back in the boxes last night, I imagined him finding the notes someday. This story came to mind and I couldn't get it out of my head until I wrote it.
Crystal
