Oh Christmas Tree, I'll Miss Thee

I remember the day my optometrist casually mentioned "progressive" while finishing my annual eye exam. I discovered I needed distance glasses ten years earlier after failing the DMV eye exam when I went to renew my driver's license. The clerk graciously gave me my license but suggested I go directly to the optometrist.

Ironically, the first time I stepped off the elevator wearing my new glasses, I realized my apartment hallway's lighting wasn't diffused; the haze was my poor vision. Some children wear glasses, so that didn't bother me, but progressive is another form of bifocals, which meant I had entered the era of reading glasses.

Vision change is just one thing that happens as we age. Some of the changes we experience are expected, and some catch us by surprise.

My first surprise came nearly 12 years ago in the form of a dead battery in my beloved BMW convertible. I hadn't realized I had not been driving it as often because it sat too low to the ground, and getting in and out required more effort. Rather than let it sit and deteriorate, I sold it.

I traded my all-electric sedan for its larger, higher-sitting relative a few years later. Bone and joint conditions are prevalent in my family, so while the decrease in flexibility wasn't unexpected, the impact on my quality of life startled me at every new occurrence.

My most significant and disappointing discovery about aging came at the beginning of this past holiday season. Before I unpack what happened, I first need to share how much I love Christmas, particularly decorating for Christmas.

As a child, I lived with my mother and my grandparents. There had been a fire in the family home seven years before my birth, which left everyone keenly aware of the dangers of fire. As a result, we had a live tree with ornaments but no lights. We had a dusty-looking ruby-red wreath made from cellophane that hadn't been stored properly, so it was dull and pressed flat.

Next, we got an aluminum Christmas tree with a four-colored rotating light wheel. Theoretically, as the wheel spun, the reflected color would change the tree's color. The problem was that the color wasn't vibrant if other lights were on in the room. The clips used to hold the pie-slice-shaped panels together often malfunctioned, and if the rotation failed, the heat from the spotlight used to project the color would melt the wheel. Ironically, I was more concerned about a fire during those years than anyone else.

On my first Christmas in my apartment, I purchased a seven-foot Douglas Fir, which, as it turns out, was too tall for my room once it was in the stand. The height challenge aside, I decorated with hundreds of lights, assorted ornaments and doves. Each successive year, I would add to the previous year's decorations, or, in some years, I'd pick an entirely different theme and start over in collecting my decorations.

My love for decorating for Christmas began over forty years ago, but this year is the first time I realized my long-loved tradition may become a victim of the changes aging brings.

I abandoned real trees for artificial ones a few years back and now have two – a ten-foot tree for the living room and a six-foot tree for the family room. I have an attic that is great for storing items when not in use, but it has a drawback.

For the last four or five years, I have used a cane, and there are 12 steps from the attic and another 13 steps to the main floor of my home. The decorations I have curated are housed in eight 30-gallon bins of varying weights in addition to three storage bags containing the two trees, another storage bag containing 30 silk poinsettias, and a box with a jumbo ornament that welcomes visitors to my home.

I typically pay someone to bring the items down from the attic, but he no longer has his "flunky" business, so rather than try to find someone trustworthy, I tackled the task myself.

I spread the 13 trips over three days, and by the time the last item was on the main floor, I was exhausted and began to wonder if this would be my last year to decorate to the extent I had in the past.

After everything was in place, I sat down to compile a list of who I thought would appreciate which ornaments as one would decide which items to bequeath to their loved ones. I thought I would scale back, but my living room has 14-foot ceilings, and a tree of less than 10 feet would be dwarfed by the room.

In addition to ornaments, I have a vast collection of angels, Santas, nutcrackers and Christmas bears, so even without trees, the house could still look festive for the holidays.

Typically, my decorations are down by January 1, but this year, they'll remain in place at least through the first week of January and perhaps beyond. In the meantime, while I decide if I will part ways with some of my collection, I have room to temporarily house the bins and bags in the garage.

I can't imagine my house not in its full Christmas glory, but I must be realistic and accept that it's not practical to continue my traditional decorating. If not this year, my trees will soon go the way of my perfect eyesight and my convertible, which makes me very sad.

O Christmas tree, I'll miss thee.

Juan H. Gaddis is a Washington, D.C.-based writer who has contributed to New York Magazine, Insider, and Shondaland. He is currently working on a novel. Read More