The Empty Tree

by B. Hernandez

Two-thousand twenty-one was, hands down, the worst year of my life. The year before, the world had been turned upside down by the most relentless pandemic modern humanity had ever seen. Covid-19 swept through countries like wildfire. It divided people, dismantled routines, and took far too many lives. My father was one of them. His passing was sudden, devastating, and left a void inside me that nothing could seem to fill.

I clenched my jaw as the overly cheerful jingle, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…” blared through the car speakers. My husband, Roland, loves Christmas. Apparently, so does half the world, judging by the avalanche of Christmas songs on every radio station. Don’t get me wrong. Christmas has always held a warm spot in my heart. But this year? I couldn’t bring myself to join the joy. The only countdown I cared about was to the end of the year.

As we approached my mother-in-law’s house, the lawn decorations of neatly hung Christmas lights, movable reindeer, and inflatable snowmen caught my gaze. A blanket of snow covered the yard, softening everything beneath it—the grass, the walkway, even the deflated corner of one reindeer’s base. Twinkling lights reflected off the icy patches, giving the whole place a kind of storybook glow.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, bracing for the wave of cheer and affection that was about to hit.

Roland lovingly patted my hand.

"You can do this." He said stoically and yet with a warmth that transcended the freezing weather.

After taking a deep breath, I opened the car door with a burst of confidence and sprung to my feet. With my shoulders back, I walked tall and graceful as I could bear toward the front door, all while sporting my widest smile.

Within seconds, the door flung open and a wave of Jingle Bells in unison with, “Merry Christmas!” lit up the air. My mother-in-law stood with arms wide open, and we locked in a tight embrace. Roland was right behind me desperately trying to hold on to several large gifts as they slowly began to slip from his grasp. He bumped me aside and shuffled through the doorway.

I made my way to the rest of the family, all of them filled with greetings and charming compliments.

“I love your hair!”

“You look great!”

“I love your reindeer sweater!”

The sweet smell of cranberry sauce and turkey hit my senses. If only for a moment, I snapped out of the act and felt a fleeting sense of peace. After what seemed like hours of talking and eating, Roland took me by the hand and escorted me outside.

“Hey honey, I just want know how you’re holding up.”

Despite the chilly air, my heart melted at his question as my legs gave way. He caught me in his arms and gently sat me down on a snow-covered, metal patio chair. I didn't even realize the tears streaming down my face until he began to wipe them away with the sleeve of his sweater. Everything I had been holding in just seemed to pour out into the night and into my husband’s chest as he held me closely and tightly.

 “I’m sorry, I can’t help feel this way,” I managed to mutter in between sobs.

“I know, I know, you don’t have to be sorry, I know this is hard for you.”

It had been ten months since my father’s passing. Working through the grief had been the biggest challenge I had ever faced. As the year zeroed in to a close, I couldn’t help but to think of what I had lost and would never recover again.

My father was a loving, funny, wise, God-fearing man. He was a quiet man but could turn on the charm in a blink of an eye. Above all, he was my rock. He encouraged me with very little words and offered moments of peace and clarity in my darkest hours.

Thinking back, I remember one Christmas, my brother and I woke up early, excited to see what Santa had left under the tree—only to find it completely bare. No presents. Tears welled in my eyes as we rushed to my parents’ room, devastated.

“Santa didn’t come,” I whispered.

Dad shot up in a panic. Without missing a beat, he said, “Go back to bed, I think he’s still on the roof!”

My brother and I giggled and tiptoed back to our room. We listened as they scrambled in the living room. We heard “Ho! Ho! Ho!” echo through the hallway. That was dad, always finding a way to turn tears into laughter. Always finding a way to make things magical...even when he messed up.

Now, I was celebrating my favorite holiday without his presence on this earth. It was unbearable to be here without him.

“They say time heals wounds, but... I feel worse since he passed." I said.

Roland cupped my face in his hands.

“Don’t worry honey; you’ll get through, on your own time. It's only been a few months.”

Roland reminded me so much of him. He was also a remarkable man. I was blessed to have him as my husband. He too could offer his mighty words of encouragement. During the past few months, I had moments of reflection and revelation. There are many thoughts a person has with a tragedy of losing someone.

Thoughts such as, why did this happen to him, why did this happen to me, what could I have done differently, I wish we had more time.

Thinking once again of the beautiful legacy my father left me, I realize that I am surrounded with people who are consistently leaving me with a piece of their own legacy. Roland was also my rock, in his own way. The people inside the merry-filled house also contributed their nuggets of wisdom, humor and love. I knew I wasn't alone, but I desperately missed dad.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, I wiped my face, took a breath, and stood. I still didn’t feel ready, but I walked in anyway. The party was still well under way without signs of letting up. I glanced at my watch. The night was still young. Another deep sigh and I put on my happiest face.

Heading towards the fireplace to get warm, I glanced at Roland dancing with his aunt. Others throughout the room were heavily engaged in conversation. My eyes shifted towards the large, brightly lit Christmas tree and saw the mountain of gifts circling underneath.

I stood in awe at how bountiful it all was. I turned back to the fire with a slight smile, thought of Dad, and thanked God—for the blessings I still had, even in the dark.