The Tea, Spilled by Morning Joe: A Holiday Dispatch from Mika

This is the Dec. 9 edition of “The Tea, Spilled by Morning Joe” newsletter. Subscribe here to get it delivered straight to your inbox Monday through Friday.

I got my tree today.

And as it has since the passing of my dad, and then later my mom, buying our Christmas tree marks the journey to the holiday that is a mix of many emotions.  

Those feelings once began with hyperventilating excitement, endless rushing about and wrapping presents, shopping, checking a multitude of gifts off our family’s list and preparing for the exciting journey to McLean, Virginia, for the vibrant — somewhat Polish — Christmas Eve dinner that was capped off with presents around the tree.

Bamba and Chief presided over it all next to a roaring fire. 

Getting my own tree used to start the countdown to that magical day of family traditions — my mother’s cooking, my brothers barreling in at the last minute with wild deer, and so many young cousins running around and getting knocked over by our German shepherd, Daisy, and the other dogs my brothers and I brought to the festivities.  

Chaos always erupted when my dad dressed up as Santa and annually scarred a grandchild or two for life.

We shared prayers and broke bread from the Vatican. Fresh holly from the garden hung from the chandelier, candles warmed every corner, and my mother’s Christmas tablecloth held my grandmother’s blue dishes, brought from Europe decades ago — quiet layers of family history.

And always, my parents at the center of everything. 

Today, I’m a few years into that inevitable chapter that begins after your parents are gone — the one that arrives whether you’re ready or not. Their memories remain so colorful and clear that sorrow still competes with the joy of the season.

For me, bringing home a tree has stirred those pangs of loss and fears of this year’s holiday not measuring up.

This tree I carry to the car reminds me again that they are gone. And in that moment, the sadness is overwhelming. 

So I choose my tree this year with all those competing emotions in mind. Bracing myself for what I know will come, I make the purchase on a frozen New York City street after scanning the piles and piles of freshly cut trees. I pick one buried in a pile, strangled in string, maybe 5 feet tall on its tiptoes. 

I carry this tree into yet another new apartment in the city. The demands of family and work — caring for our parents, following our children, staying close to our jobs — have kept us relocating. These repeated moves sharpen the holiday’s ache, a painful reminder that I will no longer return to the people and the place that once defined home. 

So I committed myself to choosing my tree wisely. I “coped ahead” on the deep and wistful feelings that would accompany this moment. I decided to get a tree that represents exactly where I am today and give up on measuring up to those remarkable McLean Christmas Eves. 

I went smaller and simpler — not a full Charlie Brown experience, but close. I know this little tree won’t hold all the ornaments my mother purchased at a market in Poland. Nor will it tower over the room like the trees of my childhood. 

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Instead, my 2025 tree is small enough to make space for the memories in the coming years. I have seen what that looks like when Joe speaks about his parents at Christmas. Laughter rises from our dining room table, and everyone shares their favorite George and Mary Jo stories. But that took time. So, too, will my Christmas journey. 

I will wait for that grief to soften into gratitude, when our family will be able to celebrate Christmas together looking joyfully at the past and keeping a hopeful eye on the future.  

Maybe my little tree will make my girls laugh, or maybe my huge blow-up lawn snowman in the living room will fill up space. Maybe the presents will be a hit. Maybe we will be moved by mass at the church around the corner. 

And maybe this little tree is starting to nudge me forward. After I set the tree up against the wall, I dragged a light-blue box of old family pictures from the closet, and I (easily) lifted the little tree up and put her on the box.

Not bad.  

I think I might like this tree. The pangs seem less sharp for the moment.

Then I realize she is sitting on that box of old photographs of some of the most joyous moments of my past — holding up my wishes for the future. 

Suddenly, the Christmas tree looks beautiful, almost luminous with hope.

It’s absolutely perfect. 

ONE LAST SHOT

CATCH UP ON MORNING JOE

SPILL IT!

This week, Jim Belushi and Craig Brewer join us to discuss their new movie, “Song Sung Blue.” Want to ask a question? Send it over, and we will pick our favorite to ask on the show!