This is for you, Jessie Lou

For as long as Wil and I have owned and decorated a christmas tree together it has been topped by a very special ornament. A friend of ours made the most beautiful angel for us. She's nearly a foot tall, draped in satin and lace, sequins hand-sewn to her flowing blue gown. She has a soft fur-trimmed collar with a pearl pendant closure. Her prcelain face was the absolute epitome of serenity, eyes downcast, lips perfect, reddish-gold hair in perfect waves. Her wings are gold-trimmed and gossamer.

Now I'm not all that sentimental over my Christmas ornaments. I don't take the time to re-package them each year, but rather, toss them into a box all jumbled up, say a prayer that a few survive until next year, and toss them in the shed. But not my angel. No, she has her own box, delicately lined in tissue paper, wrapped in bubble wrap. And she most certainly doesn't reside in the shed 11 months out of the year. No, she stays in the closet, on the top shelf out of the reach of little hands. I've been so gentle and careful with her. I've cherished her.

Jessie was probably the first friend that Wil and I mutually loved. Sure, we both have friends, and most of them we both like, but Jessie was like family. She fit this perfect place in our lives together. She could talk cars with Wil until the cows came home, all while designing a baby quilt for another friend's baby shower with me.

But I am a terrible friend. It's something that I can admit with only a bit of shame. You see, it's just my nature to enjoy my time and space alone. Sometimes I'm just not up to going out, or talking for hours. I just want to be--to the point of selfishness.

And so, what started out as a friendship between all three of us morphed into something more like a full-time relationship between Wil and her, and me sort of fading out. Not because they didn't want me along for the ride, but because I just couldn't make myself be that energetic, outgoing, whatever.

Towards the end is probably when I was the worst friend possible. I was pregnant with J and having a miserable time with it. At the same time, she was going through a rather rough divorce that was, to be honest, a few years overdue. When she needed me the most to be there, to be compassionate, to be supportive, I wasn't. I was too wrapped up in myself to be anything more than impatient.

Not long after her separation, she moved home to Massachussets, and I never even got to really say goodbye, or any of the millions of other things that I wanted to tell her- like how much I loved her.

So every year I unwrap my prefect angel and I set her atop our tree, and I think about her, as I also do throughout the entire year, and I say my own little prayer for her- hope that she's finding happiness and all good things.

Today, while cleaning the litter box, I turned around quickly to keep J from sticking his hands in the filth, and bumped the tree. Down she toppled. I tried to catch her. Of course I did! But as anyone who's ever broken something they value knows, it happened too quickly to do anything about it. And so, the angel is no more.

Knowing that there was no way to repair her shattered face, I actually considered looking for a suitable replacement at the craft store, but that just seemed like sacrilege.

She certainly was beautiful... And I don't just mean the angel.