As a kid I begged my parents to get a real tree.  I wanted the smell of balsam, the sticky needles between my fingertips as I decorated.  I used to love decorating the tree. My favorite ornament to hang was “my” ornament, a gold angel with my name written on it in script with three hanging charms one with my weight, time of birth and date of birth. After the tree was decorated at night I enjoyed sitting in living room of my parent’s old Victorian home with the light of the tree illuminating the room.

As the years piled up Christmas became less magical as it often happens when you grow into adulthood.  Waiting for Santa to come, making cookies and the excitement of having family over the house slowly were replaced with the responsibility of cleaning, cooking, and the financial stress of buying presents.  Even my twenty year old step daughter pointed out Christmas is mostly worrying someone else bought you a present and you hadn’t shopped for them.

By my thirtieth Christmas I had a newborn child of my own and was in the middle of a divorce.  This Christmas there was no tree. No lights. No decorations. I had moved about forty minutes away from my family and ex husband.  When we divided things in our house I had no interest in holiday items; they just weren’t top priority to me at the time.

I did decide it was important for my son to have his own ornament so I had one made.  Every now and again I would think about my special ornament, wondering what had become of it.  I tried searching for it when I boxed up my condo to move in with my now husband.  To no avail.  It seemed the ornament was lost forever.

This year as we decorated the tree I couldn’t help but notice the kid’s ornaments. I hoped the magic of Christmas was preserved for them on the tree, just like their ornament.  I wondered about mine, briefly, knowing that I had looked high and low without it turning up.

The Saturday before Christmas my son wanted to watch the movie The Polar Express.  I enjoyed seeing him so excited about Santa’s arrival.  He even owned the bell from the movie.  I wondered if I were a character in the book, if the bell would still ring for me?

The week after Christmas our tree was still up.  We didn’t light it anymore, we just hadn’t had time to take it down.  It was a Sunday afternoon and we had just gotten a dishwasher which was being installed.  I debated taking down the tree but I didn’t want to be more in the way of the dishwasher installation, or the playoff football game on TV.

“Can we please watch something else? I’m tired of football.  The Patriots aren’t even playing this week…it’s kind of boring,” my step daughter asked.

“What’s the movie you keep saying I have to see? The one you guys said is so funny?”  My husband asked.

“Oh, Mean Girls,” I said with a laugh, “Tina Fey from Saturday Night Live is in it. You’d really watch that?” I asked.

“Sure,” my husband said with a smile.

“I think I brought it over when I moved a few years ago.  Let me look,” I said walking around the corner to where the DVDs were stacked.   I found the DVD box positioned in the middle of the stack.  I carefully plotted its removal feeling for a moment like I was playing the game Jenga.  After successfully extracting the DVD I started to open it when I heard a noise like broken glass.  ‘Oh no, I wonder if the DVD broke during one of the moves?’  I thought to myself as I opened the case.  The DVD was very much intact.  It was my golden ornament sitting on top that was making all the noise.

“Oh!” I gasped tears filling my eyes holding up the ornament for my husband and step daughter to see,  “I haven’t been able to find this for five years…I thought it was gone!” I wiped my eyes as my husband and step daughter took the ornament to hang on the tree.  For a minute when I looked back at the tree my ornament had the same special glow that it held years ago.

The next morning I was answering emails in my office when one of my students stopped by.  It was early on a Monday so I was surprised anyone else was in the building.

“Hey, I know this is late but I wanted to give you this,” she said extending a mug filled with chocolate.

“Thank you!” I said taking the mug turning it the read the writing. ‘Dear Santa I Still Believe’ written in cursive across the mug, “Oh wow…this is…crazy timing….” I stammered, thinking of the found ornament hung on the tree that resurfaced, its glow.

‘I do still believe.’ I thought to myself with a smile taking the mug over the coffee pot to fill it.