This photo popped up on my Facebook page the other day. It’s from six years ago, during Angie’s and my first Christmas in our own apartment.
I wasn’t ready to look at it then, and I’m not sure I’m completely ready now, but after a few days of mulling it over, I can see the beautiful things in this photograph. The dignity of that gorgeous staircase. The hopefulness of ornamentation. The togetherness of two stockings instead of three. I sold my diamond ring that year to buy a tree and presents for my daughter, and it was the best damn thing I ever did. Well, one of the best things anyway. That Christmas morning was unforgettable. Angie, in her Hannah Montana pajamas, tearing at wrapping paper. And me, sipping coffee, exhausted but satisfied.
Not long after this picture was taken, I went to California for the first time ever. I saw blue sky and possibility and knew that Angie and I were bound for something else.
This weekend, we’re going to put up our tree and hang some stockings. Three now. Not two.
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