It Just Has to Be Real

Artificial trees are nice. They don't shed their needles, some even come with a scent of pine. You can take them down, box them up and put them away for use again the following year. But they don't have a soul. A live Christmas tree has a soul. A spirit if you will, that takes on the personality of your family and home. It brings a sense of warmth and love into your home.

The whole entire time I was growing up, my mother always had the latest and greatest artificial tree for Christmas. In our home in Texas we had a beautiful picture window where she would set the tree for the whole neighborhood to see. Usually, there was also a spotlight with a color wheel behind the tree so that the colors would continually change on the tree. Especially the year we had the all white tree and the year of the aluminum tree. Never the less, every year brought about the wonderment of what new kind of tree my mother would drag home. They were always very pretty to look at but it seemed to me that something was missing with each tree.

My Dad must have felt the same way, but out of love and respect for my mom, he never said a word about the sometimes gaudy and frequently tacky trees. He felt that if it made her happy then what was the harm. The Christmas of my sixteenth year was different. Daddy finally spoke up. He requested that this year we have a real tree. One that we cut down off of our own property. My Dad hadn't been feeling well and was scheduled to go in sometime after Christmas for by-pass surgery on his heart. My Mom, agreed that this year we would have a real Christmas tree.

Over the creek and through the woods, we drove the pick up truck to find the perfect tree. Sure enough, out there in the "back 40", Dad found just the right tree. It was enormous. So large was it that I think we finally ended up using the top of the tree for the actual Christmas tree. We all had quite a good laugh about this too.

About a week prior to Christmas was the Christmas Choir concert at the high school that I was participating in. Daddy never missed a concert. He loved music and I was his baby girl. A little spoiled too, I guess. The concert was on a Sunday afternoon after church. One thing no one ever missed at our house was church. If the doors were open...we were there! Dad, however, didn't go to church that morning. He wasn't feeling to good. So my mother, grandmother and myself went on to church with out him. When we got home, he had fixed a real nice roast beef dinner with all of the trimmings. Of course, my mother scolded him for doing this when he didn't feel well. Daddy just smiled and said it made him feel better.

That afternoon when it was time to leave for the concert, my dad told my mom that he still wasn't feeling too well and to go ahead and take me to the concert without him. I found that really odd, but being a teenager, I just shrugged my shoulders and went on. The concert went very well but I really missed my dad not being on the front row, smiling at me. He was my inner song.

When we arrived home, my dad said the neighbor needed help cleaning a deer that he had killed and dad wanted to go help him. My mom of course, didn't think this was a very good idea but Daddy insisted. Mom conceded with the understanding that she would drive. The neighbor's property joined our property on the back side but you had to drive about 15 miles around to get to their house by car or truck.

My parents had been gone about an hour when there was a loud and desperate knocking on our front door. My grandmother went to answer the door when suddenly the door flung open and there was Mr. Berry, the neighbor my parents had gone to help. Mr. Berry was all out of breath and looked like he had seen a ghost. He just kept asking my grandmother where my brother-in-law Paul was. Of course, Paul wasn't at our house and Granny told Mr. Berry that Paul was down at his parent's place about 30 miles away. She then begged Mr. Berry to tell her what was wrong. Mr. Berry just kept saying "I think he's gone". After hearing this several times, Granny finally got him to tell her "who" was gone. "George!" he said. George was my dad. Granny pleaded with Mr. Berry to clarify himself and tell us what he meant by George being gone. "I think he is dead!" Mr. Berry said with his head hanging low and tears in his eyes.

My father passed away that afternoon from a cerebral hemorage. The doctors said that he could have been standing in the middle of the Mayo Clinic and there wouldn't have been anything anyone could have done to save him. This was six days before Christmas.

Before my mom and dad left to go to Mr. Berry's house that afternoon, while I was on the phone, my dad came up to me and placed his hand on my left cheek and said " I love you, my sweet little girl". I remember looking at him funny and saying " I love you too daddy!" then carrying on with my phone conversation.

The first time in sixteen years my dad finally had a live Christmas tree. I looked at that tree and saw the heart and soul of my dad. He loved life and life loved him. I believe that the tree was very proud to have been selected by my dad to be his Christmas tree. It was by far the prettiest tree I believe I have ever seen.

Life goes on and time goes by. We grow up, have families and make traditions of our own and sometimes forget some of the traditions we had as children growing up. I did. It has always been "easier", cheaper and less messy to have an artificial tree. Not this year! This year I have remembered what has been gnawing at me all of these years. The tree. This year we are going out with our children, picking the most beautiful tree with the sweetest soul and bringing it home to be a part of our family for Christmas this year. You see, it just has to be real. I love you Daddy!