The empty space where the Christmas tree stood causes an emptiness in my heart for a day (or at least a few hours) after the festive decor comes down. It's a melancholy task to take each ornament from the tree and lovingly wrap it to be stored for the next eleven months. Each one holds a special memory of a person or event or former home or trip taken. The hand-made ones by my Little Mister, with his name written in his own handwriting at different stages of his young life, are the ones that choke me up the most. Time is flying. I believed it would, but didn't understand the depth of emotion which goes along with it until experiencing it for myself.