Dust covered the top of the crates I dragged out of storage. They didn\u2019t exactly scream holiday spirit.<\/p>\n
It had been years since I\u2019d opened Mom\u2019s collection of Christmas decorations. Without her around to appreciate it, why decorate the house?<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s see what\u2019s inside!\u201d my fianc\u00e9e said.<\/p>\n
The excitement in Stephanie\u2019s eyes made the effort seem worth it. This year. Maybe.<\/em><\/p>\n I pulled open the first box and lifted out a three-foot-tall ceramic tree. Stephanie unwound the cord and plugged it in. Multicolored lights flickered to life. \u201cYour mother sure knew how to celebrate,\u201d Stephanie said.<\/p>\n That was an understatement. Christmas was Mom\u2019s favorite time of year. She believed it was filled with promise and acted accordingly.<\/p>\n Each December our house became transformed. Mom wrapped garland around the banisters, stacked holiday dishes on the buffet and set out her hand-painted Santa\u2019s workshop. The house reeked of Christmas.<\/p>\n After Mom died my family tried to celebrate Christmas the way we used to, but for me it just wasn\u2019t the same. It was as if I had a big hole in my life where Mom used to be. A big hole where Christmas used to be.<\/p>\n Every year since I\u2019d think about putting up the old decorations at my own place. Thinking was as far as I got. Then Stephanie and I got serious about a future, maybe starting a family of our own. I told her about the decorations in storage.<\/p>\n \u201cLook!\u201d Stephanie said, digging into another crate. \u201cA little church\u2014with real stained-glass windows.\u201d<\/p>\n Mom liked to run her finger up the steeple, peering inside as if imagining a quaint Christmas service. Now maybe Stephanie would care for the little church the way Mom did.<\/p>\n I started on another crate and unwrapped the piece on top. At the first glimpse of blue I knew it was Mary, her expression as soft as I remembered.<\/p>\n Next I unwrapped a figure with an elaborate crown\u2014the first of the three wise men. The next piece I identified before I even unwrapped it. Those two points could only be the ears of the donkey that carried Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem.<\/p>\n Pieces lined up perfectly before me as the pile of tissue paper grew: the angel with her trumpet, the lowly shepherd with a lamb slung over his shoulders, simple Joseph in his brown robe. Only one more to go. I know what this one is<\/em>, I thought as I peeled off the tissue paper to reveal\u2026a lamb?<\/p>\n But where…. The box was empty. \u201cWhere\u2019s baby Jesus?\u201d I said, searching through the pile of tissue paper.<\/p>\n \u201cHe must be there. Did you check his manger?\u201d Stephanie said.<\/p>\n I held up the cattle\u2019s trough that served as his bed. \u201cIt\u2019s empty. And Jesus is nowhere to be found. But he can\u2019t be missing. He\u2019s the most important part.\u201d<\/p>\n Stephanie and I rummaged through all the wrapping paper scattered across the floor. \u201cHe was there for Mom\u2019s last Christmas,\u201d I said. \u201cShe never would have lost him.\u201d<\/p>\n Hours later every box was empty and every bit of tissue paper laid out flat in a tall stack. Still no baby Jesus. Holding the empty manger in my hand, the aching feeling of loss washed over me again.<\/p>\n The most important part of Christmas was missing just as surely as the most important piece of Mom\u2019s nativity set. I shouldn\u2019t have hoped to make Christmas the way it used to be.<\/p>\n \u201cWe should just pack the nativity back into the crate,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNot yet,\u201d said Stephanie, putting her arm around me. \u201cWe\u2019ve come this far. I\u2019ll go to the hobby store tomorrow and find another baby tiny enough to fit.\u201d<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t say no. At least the nativity set would be complete, even if my Christmas never would be.<\/p>\n