Blue was my family's Christmas colour when I was young. Grandmother's tree was trimmed totally in blue lights. My grandparents' parlor in which we trimmed the tree and exchanged gifts had blue carpet and blue wall paper. Elvis' Blue Christmas was the family Christmas carol. Most of the gift wrap was blue. And on and on.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago we are at the florist choosing a wreath for my mothers' grave. (reminder that we had a stone carved for our childrens' birth parents and placed it next to my mothers' stone) We asked the kids if they wanted to choose the wreath because it was for their parents, too. Out of hundreds of wreaths, what do they choose? A beautiful wreath made of blue spruce, decorated with blue ornaments, and a large blue and silver bow. It made a lump in my throat.
Unfortunately, the wreath also set off a two week period of mourning, especially for Emmy. She cried herself to sleep every night and woke up crying each morning. She wanted to know why we had not taken her African parents to America so we could all live together (they are deceased). And why we did not pay for doctors to save her parents. And its' not fair that other kids get to see their Moms and Dads at Christmas by Emmy does not. Emmy asks the deepest most heart breaking questions about sickness, death, afterlife, heaven, and so on. It was a truly blue Christmas.