Perfectly Imperfect

And so here I am, mimicking Laocoön’s great struggle except my mortal foe being several strands of Christmas lights instead of malicious sea serpents. I eye the towering, Noble Fir like a gunslinger staring down uncertain fate some twenty paces away. Buddy the Elf is chugging syrup on the TV while Elvis bellows out Blue Christmas in the background. As glitter collects in sap stained palms and fingers negotiate ornament hooks, I realize it’s been five whole years since I’ve decorated a Christmas tree. That’s a really long time for me. I come from a household of festive psychotics. Seriously, my folks are a bit umm, excited, when it comes to sprucing up the house with festive decor. Let’s just say I’ve seen less Christmas decorations in a Christmas decorations store.

I wasn’t as afflicted with Christmas fever as my folks, but all the same our tree decorating tradition was a rather big deal for Jess and I. There was this quaint little Christmas tree lot four blocks from our place, it ran out of an unused preschool parking lot. After choosing wisely, a bit of negotiation, and a sawdust shower, I’d lug that sappy bastard back to our apartment. The scent of pine still lingers as I recall the branches bobbing to the beat of my step, a wake of needles raining down along the way. I wrestled the thick SOB up our building stairway like an overly drunk friend twice my size. My adoring and supportive fiancée is there to greet me, or rather the nine feet of pine tree fornicating with our apartment door, “What the fuck Joe.” “I know right! It’s awesome!” as I slam my shoulder into the tree, finally birthing it through the opening. One year I had to hoist it up the balcony but that almost ended not so great. “In other news… idiot man loses tug of war with Christmas tree, falls to death.” A victorious grin spreads across my mischievous face as a whole foot of tree top presses against our ceiling. Why are men like this, so infantile and excessive? Because we’re awesome, that’s why.

Now the real fun begins. The familiar pop then thud of a rocketing champagne cork denting the ceiling rings out like a track and field starting pistol. A Sinatra Christmas record serenades our loft with all that sexy scratchiness you just don’t hear these days. Inappropriate images are mapped out along the the seasoned wood flooring using fallen pine needles and It’s a Wonderful Life vies for attention on the tube. And so the night carries on in this fashion as Jess and I interweave laughing, dancing, toasting, decorating, and just plain celebrating one another as well as this beloved Christmas tradition.

“See that’s why you guys had the perfect relationship.” My friend states over caffeinated beverages one sunny afternoon after hearing the aforementioned tree decorating details. Tea nearly spews from my mouth in rebuttal as a sole index finger gestures for pause… allowing the comedic moment to fade. “Perfect?” My eyebrow peaks as to affirm her remark. “I guess if viewing our relationship from these stories and such I mayyyy see how some people assume we shared this ‘perfect’ relationship. But that’s like describing Chicago just by looking at a map.”

I don’t really know what constitutes as a perfect relationship these days but Jess and I may have had a disagreement or two… hundred. One of which lead to 900 pounds of accumulative security personnel “overseeing” us while we packed our bags in a Vegas hotel room after being politely asked to leave the premises. I’m kinda proud of that disagreement by the way. I know this is a public forum and according to the rules I’m not supposed to share these so called flaws within our relationship… which ultimately highlight our very own imperfections… so um, oops? We were a passionate couple, and passionate couples do everything passionately, including fight. Jess and I weren’t perfect by any means, but I like to think we were perfectly imperfect, together.

And it clearly states in the Perfectly Imperfect Guide Book that; “Thou shalt make irresponsible decisions.” So Jess and I had a sang, “Do it up!” I guess our sang game needed a bit of work but what we lacked in clever vernacular we made up for in Celebration with a capital C. Dinner menu; whitefish or surf and turf? S&T all day baby, Do it Up! A $100 gift card to Bed, Bath & Beyond for a birthday present or a scavenger hunt through the neighborhood for $343 of hidden treasure? Do it Up! Resort vacation in Ft. Lauderdale or two weeks trekking the Costa Rican coast? Do it Up! You get the point. The point being Jess and I were super lousy at saving money. It wasn’t only the “important” occasions which we celebrated either. We took pride in our time together as we worked very hard for exactly that, time together. Sprucing up a midweek dinner with candles and jazz. Melting into the couch, pups nestled between sprawling limbs, on a lazy Sunday losing ourselves in a TV marathon. Praying together each and every night before falling asleep… thanking God for our blessings and requesting more for ourselves as well as others.

Jessica and I enjoyed a good celebration. We celebrated one another, our time together, our friends & family… we kind of celebrated anything to be celebrated. I loved that about us, pride swells actually, especially without her because each one of those mini celebrations is an invaluable treasure of sustenance.

And it didn’t stop with her passing because life still deserves to be celebrated, cuz it sure as shit isn’t gonna celebrate itself. Should I take the highway or go the long ass scenic route up the coast even though I’m super exhausted? Should I ask this seemingly upset stranger if they’re okay or just mind my own business and assume they’re fine? Should I splurge on a one of a kind, mind bending, life altering, super duper dope ass experience or not? Should I eat this entire pizza in one sitting? And I stop, then consider my life abruptly ending sometime tomorrow maybe just after breakfast, I really love breakfast, and I ask myself if regret would be a final consideration. This inquiry ricocheted through my mind dozens of times over a day until I re-trained myself not to question my gut anymore, I just celebrate all that I can. I don’t live in this fashion as to honor my late wife, nor to honor our love, or even love in general. I live this way simply to honor life. Because life deserves to be celebrated no matter what the circumstance. I’ve seen this embodied within the joyful smiles of children recovering in hospital burn units, within the victorious tears of abused women tasting empowerment, and within a sick woman’s sweet elation brought on by a thread of hope as she waged war with cancer.

And so here I stand, making an inappropriate picture within a mound of pine needles while sipping a Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers, btw. I celebrate with you all, and I celebrate you all this season. And I salute Jess, this sparkling spruce, and I celebrate this perfectly imperfect moment without her. Happy Birthday Beloved. Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays to all.