It all began years ago when my husband, Michael made a decision. He disliked Christmas – oh, not the Spirit of Christmas -- just the commercialization of the Holidays and the frantic running around buying gifts, purchasing unwanted or unnecessary items usually in desperation because you couldn’t think of something better.

So every year, Michael’s gift was the envelope in the tree. The first year it was a donation to a struggling high school wrestling team for new uniforms that they couldn’t afford. Later years included sending mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, money for elderly brothers whose home had burned down just before the Holidays, and on and on.

Each year as we opened the envelope, the smiles of Michael and our kids were the brightest thing about Christmas and became the highlight of our holidays. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would always stand wide-eyed as their Dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal what was inside. The envelope never lost its allure.

But this Christmas was different and I dreaded it. You see, we lost Michael last year to cancer. When the holidays rolled around, I was still so lost in grief that I barely got the tree up. Yet on Christmas Eve, I placed an envelope on the tree with a check inside made out to the local cancer center. It seemed appropriate even though my heart was so heavy. I wished Michael were with us to do this himself.

Morning came way too soon but by the time I got downstairs, all the kids were already there. I saw our family perched on the couch like a line of guilty canaries. What I saw next was our tree dotted with white envelopes. From our son Patrick was a check to a local drug program since Michael was so concerned about his kids staying drug-free. From middle daughter, Amy, was a check to our church for sheet music because her fondest memory was of Michael singing in the choir. From our youngest daughter, Molly, were several twenty-dollar bills for the local crisis pregnancy center for the many women, she said, who have probably never experienced the love a husband like that of her daddy. The last envelope was a bit lumpy, coming from our youngest son. A handful of change spilled out which he’d been saving to go to the animal shelter, just like the one he and Michael had visited before he died.

I felt like Michael was right there with us, and so did the kids. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree and opening envelopes. Michael’s spirit, like the Christmas Spirit, will always be with us.