Tree of Life: Ornaments Remind Us of Cherished Moments and People

A “Baby’s First Christmas,” commemorating her birth 30 years ago, a Jewish star, constructed by M.E. with silver-painted popsicle sticks in second grade (a bit odd, considering that she attended a Catholic school and that Jews traditionally don't put up a Christmas tree), and a small, blue and white porcelain windmill, which M.E. brought back after spending a college semester abroad in Amsterdam. (That ornament cost me roughly $27,000.)

Then there’s a trove of folk-art ornaments, the fruits of decades of scouring flea markets and craft fairs. These include ones that celebrate Yankee Doodle, Barney and Stanley, three tuxedo cats I’ve owned over the years. More recent additions, all gifts from my girlfriend, Michele, speak to our retirement life together: a carved bear from our fall trip to the Berkshires, a figurine of Snoopy grilling hamburgers (our favorite meal) and an incredibly realistic-looking cosmo, our preferred cocktail to wash down the burgers.

One day, M.E. will inherit them all. But what I fear is that the stories attached to these ornaments, stories that give them their context and special meaning, will be lost once I’m gone. They’ll just be ornaments. Sadly, there’s no place in a will to bequeath your memories. Which is why every year, though she’s heard them all before, I retell M.E. my ornament stories. My hope is that one day she’ll tell them to her children as they decorate their tree. Maybe they’ll learn a bit about me, the life I lived and the experiences I had.

And maybe it will inspire them to curate their own collections, so their trees will reflect the moments and people in their lives.