Holidays are tricky because they carry the sobering weight of memories and traditions. But being our second go-around without dad, I’ve learned a few things. That the anticipation is usually what sounds an emotional alarm. That it’s actually the preceding days or weeks that unearth a fresh sensitivity. That when you actually get to that day – there’s a sense of a relief that you made it and are soldiering through.
That’s how Thanksgiving was this year. It came like a normal Thursday, surprisingly unmarked by tears. We spent the day with dad’s side of the family in our home. The afternoon swelled with stories of him and us all laughing and remembering. Dad was with us all day, until we sat down to eat and he wasn’t.
We’ve hosted Thanksgiving at our house for years now and as everyone would fill their plates, dad would take his place at the head of the table. It was his spot where he’d lean back with a knowing smile, taking in the joy of being around his family. So when mom, my brother and I approached the table, we took a reflective pause. Mom and I traded glances in understanding as I put an encouraging hand to my brother’s back – it was his chair now. I know it’s an unfair position for him to become the man of the family, and it adds such a complicated layer to an already astounding grief – but there’s no one else dad would want in his chair than the son he raised lovingly in his image.
It’s moments like these that are the hardest and most unexpected. That simple things like picking a seat can cause the hurt to claw out from deep inside. We so often view the holidays through a lens of remembrance, and it can be hard to start anew. When you’ve lost a loved one, the holidays can be full of pain.
But they are also so full of joy.
Last year – I couldn’t stomach putting up my decorations. I begrudgingly braved the mall to find presents. I avoided holiday music. I just couldn’t find it in my heart to celebrate times that bring family together when I’d be without such a huge part of my own.
But this year, something shifted. I’m more resolute than ever in embracing the Christmas spirit. I decorated mom’s tree and put up my own, and while tears did come – it filled me with peace.
I think a lot about one of the last conversations dad had with a lifelong friend. My dad told him that he wasn’t worried about his kids. That we were strong and we’d find a way to be OK. And as usual, I think dad had the foresight to know me better than I knew myself.
I will not let him down. I can not. If there’s anything I do, I will be the person he thought me to be – and he will be my constant source of strength.
And oddly, it’s him who is inciting this thirst for joy and to appreciate the small moments that are actually really big moments.
It keeps me going – and I like to think of him maybe looking down and smiling, saying something simple yet profound.
“I’m proud of you, Toots. I know life can be hard, but isn’t it beautiful too?”
A REKD GIRL 