The Christmas Tree Warrior

Now, Grandpa swung his legs out of the truck—his real leg first, followed by his prosthetic leg. He sighed deeply, his eyes fixed on the dimming sunlight. His hunched shoulders had weathered many storms in the past, well, until two months ago when they had finally met their match. Papa came around the truck, offering a steadying hand, his face filled with worry. Grandpa took it, leaning slightly as he climbed out of the truck. I bounded up from behind, flashlight in hand, hoping we wouldn’t actually need it. I wanted to be back in the cabin before Ma finished making her cherry pie.

Earlier, I had overheard Ma and Papa whispering about nursing homes and grief counseling. When they caught me listening, they shooed me away. Since Grandma passed, everything had changed. Her shiny crystal toys, the ones she kept in the high cupboard, were off-limits now. I protested. “She’d let me play with them when she was alive!” But my protests were only met with silent, tear-streaked stares. Ma had brought out my box of wooden trucks and trains instead. She spent the afternoon cooking and cleaning. I spent the afternoon chasing the cat around the room, trying to see if it could fit in the caboose. It couldn’t. When Grandpa had insisted on going out to cut a tree, Ma and Papa had gone back to the whispers in the corner. Ma had insisted that I tag along for the trip for the tree so she could start doing Grandpa's packing. As we walked out the door, Ma had mouthed words to Papa inaudible and I couldn't make out what she was saying.

Now, as we walked from the parking lot towards the path leading deeper into the Arapahoe Forest, the chill in the air reddened my cheeks, and I started to feel the numbness on the tip of my nose. The pine trees loomed all around us as the light shone haltingly between the branches, casting lazy shadows behind us. There was very little sound as we walked. Our boots crunched in the snow, and occasionally birds made calls that were hard for me to decipher. I could smell the earth and pine. This was the smell that signaled the Christmas season in our home. Grandpa cut a fresh tree for the house every year.

“Grandpa, do you like your wooden leg?” I asked as we walked. “Your leg is just like Hiccup’s!”

“What is a Hiccup?” Grandpa asked.

I laughed and squeezed his hand. “Hiccup isn’t a what, Grandpa! He’s a warrior!” I said.

Grandpa looked to Papa for help, who smiled. Papa replied faintly, “It’s from his cartoon, Dad. The one with the dragon. It’s called How to Train Your Dragon.”

“I see,” Grandpa said.

“Yeah,” I said eagerly. “Hiccup goes into battle just like you did when you tried to save Grandma. And just like you, Hiccup lost his leg. He had to practice walking on his fake leg. He even tried walking on ice a couple of times and fell down. Have you ever fallen down on ice, Grandpa?”

Papa groaned and looked away.

“Well,” Grandpa said, “I haven’t tried walking on ice just yet.”

“Oh,” I said, frowning. “But we’re about to go hunting for Christmas trees, and there’s ice up in the forest. Maybe we shouldn’t do it right now. You can’t find a Christmas tree and drag it all the way down here if you haven’t even practiced walking on ice with your leg yet. We have to practice first, just like going into battle. You have to practice first.” I showed them how you would practice for battle using the flashlight as my sword.

We stopped walking. Papa looked back at Grandpa, who stood still, frozen, his gaze far and distant.

“I know you always get the Christmas tree, Grandpa,” I said, “but I don’t think you should do it before you practice on your leg first.”

Grandpa’s eyes softened as he looked at me. His face, lined with years of laughter and loss, seemed even heavier now. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared off into the forest then back at me.

“Hiccup, you said?” Grandpa finally asked.

“Yeah, his name is Hiccup,” I said.

Grandpa nodded slowly. “I mean… maybe we could stop at Joe’s. He’s got some trees that would work just fine, and then you could show me this movie with the dragon and it's missing leg,” he said.

“It’s not the dragon who’s missing the leg, Grandpa, it’s the warrior. I used to watch this movie with Grandma all the time. Last year, when you and Papa went to get the Christmas tree, we watched it twice because you took so long,” I said.

Grandpa smiled faintly. “Grandma liked Hiccup?” he asked, his voice soft.

“She loved him,” I said. “She told me, ‘I know he’s lost a part of himself. I know that leg is missing, but he’s still a whole person. That’s what she said to me.’” I continued, “She told me, ‘You don’t measure a person by what they’ve lost. You measure them by who they are.’”

Grandpa’s shoulders heaved and shook for a very, very, very long time. Finally, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned his body back towards the truck. “Let’s stop at Joe’s,” he said to Papa. “We’ll get the tree from Joe’s.”

When we got to Joe’s, I led the way to the Christmas trees and picked out the ones I thought Grandma would like the best. Papa said the biggest one probably wouldn’t fit through the door.

“Well, how about this one?” I asked, standing beside a tall, full pine tree.

Grandpa walked over to the tree, steadier, more confident than he had been before, and examined the tree, walking all the way around it. “I think this is our tree,” he said. "It's perfect."

Joe helped Papa load the tree up onto the truck bed.

At the cabin, as Papa and Grandpa pulled the tree down from the truck bed and into the house, I held the door wide open and breathed in the sweet, tangy smell of that cherry pie. Papa got the tree settled in by the fireplace, and it looked just like the Christmas tree we had picked out last year. I had to agree with Grandpa. It was perfect.

Ma brought the Christmas ornaments, and we worked slowly, quietly, loading all the lights and ornaments onto the tree. “This was Grandma’s favorite,” I said, holding up an ornament I had made in school the year before. I had put a picture of our family inside a glass bubble and covered the top. Papa lifted me to put the star on top, and I hung the ornament right beside the star.

“This was her favorite time of year,” Grandpa said.

After dinner, Ma made hot cocoa and cut the pie into slices. Grandpa asked, “So what’s the Hiccup movie called again?” as he pointed the remote at the TV.

“How to Train Your Dragon!” I said excitedly.

As the movie played, I nestled into Grandpa and wrapped the covers around us. Grandpa chuckled softly when Hiccup stumbled with his prosthetic leg. When Hiccup found more strength, Grandpa’s eyes glistened.

At the end of the movie, Grandpa leaned back into the chair and ruffled my hair. “Son, you’re right. Hiccup is a warrior,” he said.

“A warrior like you,” I said as I hugged him close.