Chainsaws & Choices

“When push comes to shove you taste what you're made of. You might bend till you break, cause it's all you can take. On your knees, you look up, decide you've had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off. Then you stand.” ~ Rascal Flatts

“No one is buying a chainsaw!” is now on the ever-growing list of parenting quotes that I had not anticipated needing to say to my twin boys. This particular statement was bellowed out my back door to my quarreling fifteen-year olds, and was followed by my insistence that they, “Get in the bleeping car!”

Given that I very rarely curse, my boys looked at me with wide-eyes and scrambled particularly quickly into the car without a single question asked.

You're likely wondering what could possibly have led to this chainsaw and profanity-laced exchange. It all started with an oversized Christmas tree.

Since October, I had been dreading the thought of Christmas. My first major holiday without my husband, and my boys' first without their father. I was dreading many aspects of the holiday, but the thought of a Christmas tree was particularly daunting. Each year getting a Christmas tree had been a full-day event complete with tailgating, a campfire and eventually selecting and cutting down our own tree. We would then bring the tree home and continue the festivities while we decorated it and then sat back to admire its brilliance.

This year, without Chris, I was just not up for heading to the tree farm. Instead, I decided that we would pick up a tree at a local grocery store and not make the situation any more involved or difficult than it had to be.

The week after Thanksgiving, a cherished friend offered to take the burden of picking up a tree off my plate. He said he would simply pick up our tree when he went to purchase his. Upon hearing this offer, one of my sons expressed interest in going along, and our friend graciously let him join. Before my son left, I equipped him with my credit card, and reminded him of two things: our ceiling height and the approximate sized tree we would need.

I arrived home later that day after running errands to discover a monstrous tree in our family room. The tree was bent nearly a foot at the top and scraped against the ceiling. It was so wide that it was difficult to move around the room. I tried to temper my reaction, as I could tell that my boys were already stressed about how they were going to make this tree work.

Their initial calm strategizing turned into a full-blown dispute and they ultimately decided to take the tree outside in an attempt to “cut it down and thin it out a bit.” While removing the tree, they further scratched the ceiling, spilled all of the water from the tree stand, and left a trail of pine needles out the door to the driveway.

Once they had moved outside, I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes threatening to fall. This tree debacle would not be happening if Chris was here. I was sad, angry, and exhausted all at once. These thoughts were interrupted by the bickering, handsaw-yielding, teenagers in my backyard. They were fighting about why this particular mammoth tree had been selected in the first place, the various potential solutions, and ultimately what power the chain saw they were going to purchase should be.

In this moment, I realized I had two options.

I could pour a glass of wine, retreat to my bedroom and fall apart, or I could take control of this very out of control situation.

Ultimately, I decided that I needed to use this scenario as an opportunity to teach my sons that despite all of our extremely heightened emotions, we could come together and resolve issues. Rather than being sad and frustrated that Chris wasn’t here to solve this problem for us, we could use this adversity to bring us closer, and possibly even create a happy memory while doing so.

Shortly after I had asserted there would be no chainsaws and demanded quite crassly that my sons get into the car, I looked at the two speechless, dumbfounded teenagers who stared back at me. “Umm, Mom, what’s happening?” my son finally meekly inquired. “We are going to Home Depot, and not for a chainsaw!” I asserted. “Now, put on some Christmas music and stop arguing!”

Within 30 seconds, Mickey Mouse was singing Jingle Bells (apparently the best an uneasy teenager could come up with on short notice) and we were on our way to find a tree that would actually fit inside our house. Outside of the sound of Disney characters singing carols, the car was noiseless, and I could tell that my boys were trying to assess the situation and my slightly unhinged behavior. That was until Donald Duck broke into a solo, and we all started laughing hysterically.

All the pent-up stress, sadness, and exhaustion dissipated, and we laughed until our eyes watered. By the time we arrived at the Home Depot we were ready to select Christmas Tree 2.0. We joked incessantly about the height of every tree we saw in the lot and laughed until our stomachs hurt. We ultimately selected our new tree which was then strapped securely to the top of our car.

By the time we made it home, the mood had shifted significantly. We eagerly decorated the tree and even sat around a little later than normal to appreciate the splendor of the lights and the smell of the pine. And, thankfully, we were able to find a good home with higher ceilings for our first tree at a nearby friend’s house.

A few times since that fateful day, I have wondered what would have happened if I had poured some Cabernet and succumbed to the tears that were so close to falling. It certainly would not have required the same level of strength or resolve.

But I would have missed out.

I would have missed hearing my sons’ laughter. I would have missed all the subsequent jokes that have ensued about chainsaws and the giant pine. I would have missed the amazing memory that I have of sitting with my boys admiring the dimly lit tree. Most importantly, I would have missed the opportunity to teach my kids that when things don’t go as planned, we get to choose how we show up. No matter how insurmountable a situation is, whether it’s a death, a divorce, an illness, or another type of loss, the Christmas tree scenario was an unwavering reminder that we get to decide how we move forward and for me that is remarkably empowering.

That evening is etched in my memory as one of the happiest moments I have experienced since my husband’s death. I am forever grateful for the joy that we created that night. It has helped me to recognize that joy doesn’t typically come looking for us, we have to be willing to go find it for ourselves. For us, this was bigger than an ill-fitting Christmas tree, it was about responding to the adversity of our loss and at the same time to mindfully deciding to keep on living while creating joy.

In the face of adversity, you get to decide how you show up. I hope you stand and choose joy.

Love & Light,

The Unwavering Widow