A box of ornaments

 He kept a box tucked away in a corner, which he'd open on December 1st. With each passing year, he grew more cautious, as the contents were his last remaining memory of her. For decades, they would look forward to the holidays, Christmas in particular, when they'd hunt for the perfect tree and decorate it with the ornaments she treasured. There were no store-bought decorations, just things she made by hand. There was a small church made from toothpicks and painted in such detail it could have been sold in stores. A dozen little stars made from cardboard and painted blue and silver that sparkled when the candlelight hit them just right, which was something he sat and waited for every year. Six red ribbons she had used to tie back their daughters' hair, some with strands of their hair, a reminder of her love for her children. Her most treasured ornament was the angel she made from her youngest daughter's doll, which had seen better days, and the promise to make her an angel delighted the child. She made a dress from material scraps kept over the years, and he remembered her saying, "You never know when something might come in handy." Hers was a labor of love: she stayed up late while the children slept, carefully stringing tiny colored beads around the gold satin dress and wings made from cotton sheer enough to let the light in when a single bulb brought it to life.

When the kids left the nest, it was just them to put up the tree, a smaller version of the trees they usually found, and the idea of a living tree appealed to both of them. From then on, they went to the local nursery and found their perfect tree, which would fill their house with joy. After the last of the Christmas cookies were gone, they planted the little tree in the yard where it would grow and become one more in an already fair-sized addition to their stand of trees that all told a story of Christmases passed.
Today he'd go to the nursery, find a tree he thought she would approve of, and take it home, her excited voice in his ears like it always was. He carefully opened the box and looked inside at all her ornaments, so lovingly made, as he placed each one by memory, knowing exactly where everything was supposed to hang. Her favorite Christmas music played in the background as he wiped away the tears, remembering her and the thousand memories they shared. He removed the angel last, placed it high on the tree, and plugged it in as he heard her voice whisper to him, a little to the right: My love, perfect.

Mike 2026