When the Tree Comes Down: A Tradition Built from Love and Loss

Well, it’s that time again — the moment when the lights go dark, and the tree comes down. That’s the tricky thing about traditions: they feel timeless and comforting, right until life changes and asks us to let go. The hardest part isn’t ending the tradition — it’s realizing the reason for it has changed.

When my son Richie died in 2007, I couldn’t imagine putting up a Christmas tree. It felt wrong, almost cruel. But my two younger children gently insisted. They said we should do it for Richie. So we did. We chose a tree that felt just right for Richie — tall and slender, just like him, as if even in that small way he was still standing with us. And we gathered every photo we could find — snapshots of his smile, his life — and tucked them into tiny 2x3 frames. Some we placed inside clear glass globes, and we hung them all on the tree. From that year on, it wasn’t just a Christmas tree anymore. It became Richie’s tree.

Taking it down was another story altogether. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The tree stayed right where it was until June 2008. And when I finally decided it was time, nothing about it felt easier. That day is still etched in my memory. My husband was at work, my daughter was working too, and my youngest son was heading out with a friend. As I began carefully wrapping the ornaments, the tears…