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The Christmas Tree
I had a backpack full of puppies and kittens, and a big friendly rat in my hair. I always knew when one inside the pack stopped breathing, as there would be this tiny stillness along my back. For a few seconds all the other baby animals would stop breathing, meowing and yapping as if for a moment's silence. Then I would have to stop moving and lower that backpack to the icy ground. I would remove the small body so that it didn't disturb the others, and become a small hard weight upon my shoulders. This morning one of the golden retriever pups just died. I didn't know what caused it. It may have been something internal. It was so close to Christmas and the morning light was weak upon its golden yellow coat. How soft that tiny coat was in death. It was enough to cause my head to be upset for most of that day. The dead puppy was the same colour as the morning. It was appropriate that it should die then. Some sunlight nestled into its forehead. The hope of a new day existed to send it peacefully into oblivion. It had reached for mid morning as its breath expired. I left it lying on the snow. Its whiskers soon icing up around its tiny sad mouth. I said, 'Go to god now. Go on little fella, go to god.' As always a large black winged labrador named Gabby appeared on the edge of a hill. The landscape became fields of golden grass as the morning light intensified. There was the little puppy wobbling towards her. She gave me a look and waited for the pup to arrive unsteady at her feet. Its chubbiness and plump wagging tail, making small crushing sounds through the ice. They went off together into the morning. It was a good way for a dog to go. That's why I always left them lying above the snow. I turned away and never went back to the same spot for I didn't have to. Anytime I had to send a small animal on its way into oblivion, the motherless black dog would appear as if taking them off to school. I walked by the Christmas tree in the shopping plaza. It was a potted one to be replanted later, which made me feel glad of its future life amongst firs. I think they had gotten it from across the Windsor side in Canada. I hoped it would be taken back there and released. It was a terrific green tree. Each branch having not only Christmas decorations on it, but the name tag of a very poor child. The idea being that the community pulled together and took a tag from the tree, which would have the name and age of the child written on it. Then that person or family would buy a special gift for the child. They would secure the tag to the gift and place the gift beneath the tree. On Christmas eve a community of children would arrive like a choir of little angels. The gifts of caring would be distributed amongst them. It was therefore inconceivable to me, that upon approaching that tree on the day of Christmas Eve itself, that most of the nametags would be still left hanging in the branches. What a dreadful state the society was in. There was a souless society of hardened adults that was going to let this happen to children on the eve of the birth of Christ. It was deeply Christmas Eve and most of the nametags were still left hanging on the tree. There were barely any children's boxes below. The charities and orphanages hadn't bothered to bring the children in. The weight of the pack, the unloved children, my own inability to buy the gifts to make the world of children right, was too much. I wished I could lie down under the tree and transform myself into a huge gift with a satin bow to make children happy forever. So that the adult world that they would grow up into could be transformed. So that a child would never have to experience unnecessary pain. So that they didn't have to see the small name tags left on the tree. To Scott From Santa and Dear Michelle. I cried long and hard over it. I didn't want to see the tragedy in everything but there it was. The best I could do was put my new gloves in a brown paper bag. I went and brought a few candy canes and wrapped them in the gloves. Warmth and sweetness had been the idea behind the gift. But I always knew that it was never enough. These small passing gestures would simply have to stand on their own. It was all I had the energy to do. I was cold and hungry myself. It is always the poor who will give to the poor. The poor will exchange you some of their poverty for some of yours. The children's tags still left on that tree in the shopping plaza was the loneliest thing I ever saw. Every other Christmas I would fret and worry over those tags. I would think of the little fir tree yet to be replanted. I would be wondering if each child for that year had been remembered. |
