The Joy of Letting Go

SIFTING THROUGH BOXES OF ORNAMENTS AND PILES OF TRIM, AN EMPTY NESTER LEARNS THAT LESS CAN BE MORE

- MARY LAURA PHILPOTT

I HEREBY CONFESS to throwing away a whole box of Christmas decorations. Before you pelt me with candy canes, let me explain.

Entering into my first year with an empty nest after 20 years of raising children, I have suddenly found the time and space to take a proper inventory. Here on my living room floor, I can finally hold a small handmade ornament in my palm and say, “What in the Sam Hill is this?” A reindeer? Santa? It’s impossible to tell. A wad of yellowed cotton balls held together with hardened clots of brown glue that were applied a decade and a half ago, it has no signature, meaning it could have been made by either of my kids. In fact, it might have been made by someone else’s child and then hitched a ride home in the wrong backpack one hectic December. I brush off the glitter it sheds on my lap and pitch it, along with several others, all alike in their grotesque mystery.

I save anything bearing a measure of my son’s or daughter’s growth. If it features a handprint, a footprint, or a photo, it gets kept. The Advent calendar stays. I like its little pockets holding all the characters from the Nativity scene: angels, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, sheep, and cows. But what I love most is that several years ago, one of our dogs ate the third shepherd, so the kids made a replacement using a square of turquoise felt and a pair of googly eyes. We call him Kevin. I will hang up that Advent calendar and celebrate the arrival of Kevin each year until one of us disintegrates.