It's been a while, I know. Months, that's eons in internet time but this blog was intended to be light, fluffy entertainment and I have been no where near "light and fluffy" recently. My last post was about my father on Father's day. He was having health issues related to diabetes and I was worried, I just wanted him to be ok.
He wasn't. He died at the end of September. I felt like part of me died with him.
What do you do when the worst thing you can imagine actually comes to pass? I had tried to prepare myself, I knew he wasn't doing well, but I don't think any of us really thought the last time he went into the hospital, it would be the last time. I knew he was suffering, and that the road he was on was one he would have hated. My rational mind understands all this, however the child who loved him...DOES NOT CARE!
She wants to rage, scream, tear her hair out, and would make a deal with the devil himself to have Dad back.
She wants to crawl into bed and not come out until the world makes sense again.
Dad was big in every sense of the word, big in stature, big humor, big temper, big spirit, huge heart. And so his absence is just as vast, a huge gaping wound where he was ripped away from all of us who loved him. So fresh, there is not the slightest movement or memory that does not bring waves of excruciating pain and an overwhelming sense of loss.
And worse, it's Christmas. Usually I love Christmas, this year, I want to stab it in the eye with a candy cane shiv.
Dad loved Christmas so much you would think he was descended from the jolly old elf himself. Occasionally his over abundance of cheer could be downright obnoxious, but damn if it wasn't infectious. He and Mom not only celebrated Christmas, they reveled in it. Half our childhood attic was Christmas decorations.
As soon as November hit Dad would get a gleam in his eye, and start waxing poetic about turkey and stuffing, and pecan pie. There would be constant reminders that CHRISTMAS WAS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!!! WERE WE READY???? The turkey carcass would still be cooling when the parade of a thousand Christmas boxes came down from storage, me and Mom would pack up half the house to make room for Santa Claus mugs, Christmas linens and china, tons of holiday themed knick knacks (from my Grandmother's pottery phase), and all manner of Yule hoopla.
It took two days just to do the inside of the house. Dad would spend another couple days fighting with the lights on the outside, neighbors would be quietly encouraged by my mother to keep impressionable kids inside and out of earshot, Dad and profanity were old friends who went waaaaay back.
But when it was all said and done, we would all stand outside and admire how simple lights on a string become magic on snowy December nights.
Then the season of serious partying began; December 6th was my parents wedding anniversary, me and my twin brother's birthday on the 17th, Dad's birthday on Christmas eve, Midnight mass, and then Christmas. Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Judy Garland would be on constant rotation on the stereo in the living room, usually with my Dad's rumbling bass as accompaniment.
Never one to be a retiring wallflower, Dad reminded us at least once a week that HIS birthday, like Jesus, came before Santa, so we better treat old Dad right, cause he and Santa were like
that and terrible gifts would result in coal for us.
Of course he was full of shit, me and my two brothers gave him some truly horrific/tacky/useless DAD gifts (If I recall correctly, one year involved soap-on-a-rope
*cringe* Sorry, Dad) and he stoically pretended to treasure each one. And not one of us ever got coal.
Christmas Eve, we would get dolled up in our holiday finery and Mom would make a smorgasbord of Dad's favorite appetizers for dinner (Dad loved snacks
almost as much as he loved Christmas), Dad would be in his finest hour, getting dozens of calls while we all noshed, sitting next to the tree, playfully pretending to covet the gifts piled at his feet.
I remember the smell of the fire he insisted on lighting no matter what the temperature outside, (I'm pretty sure every house we lived in growing up had a fireplace, not a coincidence, I'm sure) and the Bayberry candles Mom always lit for luck on the mantel. Then we would all pile into the car and head to church for Midnight Mass, with Dad belting carols and pointing out Christmas lights on the way. I remember going to bed and seeing Mom and Dad sitting in the living room by just the light of the fire and the tree, sipping cocktails and holding hands. Enjoying a quiet moment together before the business of being Santa commenced.
Naturally, our Santa was a little different, instead of cookies and milk, Dad insisted St. Nick had a fondness for pepperoni slices, pretzels and Heineken beer. One year Santa drank an entire case of beer AND two bottles of champagne, looking back I have no idea how that happened and two bikes got assembled, although Dad's hands were sporting several band-aids, the bikes
were ridable.
Christmas morning, we were kept quarantined in our rooms until Mom and Dad unleashed us like the Kraken, we would grab a handful of whatever was on the kitchen table, eat it on the way to the tree, then once Mom and Dad had their tea and coffee respectively the three of us kids would simultaneously turn the living room into a hurricane of wrapping and tissue paper. Whole thing took about 20 minutes, it was
glorious. When the kids were done, Mom and Dad would follow at a much more sedate pace. The day was spent examining our booty, snacking and napping. It ended with Christmas ham in the rarely utilized dining room, the table set with crystal goblets, and the silver service Mom and I polished each year, and the Lenox Christmas china all painstakingly arranged on Mom's best tablecloth.
The past few years, my parents have traveled to my older brother's house every year to spend Christmas with the grandchildren. Much to my father's dismay, some years they did not even put up a tree, but practicality won out. As they got older, it became more of an undertaking each year. They were perfectly content to help make new traditions in my brother's home with his family, passing the torch so to speak.
My heart breaks for my mother, for as awful as this has been for me, I know her pain is 1000 fold what mine is. I see it on her face and in her eyes, and it's almost like losing him all over again.
She is changing her routine, and going to my twin brother's house this year for Christmas eve and Christmas day, I'll be with my husband's family in Ohio, and we'll both manage as best we can. I just came back from visiting her, and not sure if it was a good idea or not, I talked her into letting my husband and I get down their table top tree and some ornaments. After dinner, my husband built a fire, I put a Frank Sinatra Christmas album on the stereo, I grabbed some egg nog, took a deep breath and sat on the floor unwrapping a lifetime's worth of ornaments and memories. It was hard, and at first, my hands shook and I had lump the size of a grapefruit in my throat. I thought I had made a terrible, terrible mistake.
But then Mom started to smile more, tear up less, and hum along with the music. I watched her lovingly and meticulously arrange each carefully chosen ornament (there wasn't room for them all), while we shared a round of "Remember When?" and just for moments at a time the shadows in her eyes would lift and she looked truly peaceful and happy. When it was all done, we stood in front of it with our arms wrapped around each other, she asked me how it looked, I told her it looked like home. We agreed Dad would approve, some weeping followed, but it was the good kind.
Before we left, she thanked me for insisting on the tree, but I think I needed it as much as she did. That night I slept better than I had in months. This is the tricky part, mourning his loss while celebrating what he loved in this season of firsts without him. Don't get me wrong, as good as time with my Mom is, today I feel like I have an emotional hangover, teary, ornery, beat up and hollowed out, but I think that's just part of the process. I just gotta lean into it and get through the next few weeks, aka fake it, till you make it - my mantra.
The best way to honor my Dad is get back to joy, and pointing out and laughing at the ridiculousness of life, I hope writing here will help me do that.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all, may you be surrounded by those you love most, and by happy memories of loved ones lost but never forgotten.
