There is something distinctly unusual and uniquely unfair about the holidays. All references to the experience of them seem to force you into a 'memorial-like' set of behaviors. I don't know why that is or why when the holidays approach and we fall into the routines of shopping, cooking, decorating, and gift giving; church celebrations, traveling to visit family, and, in general, expending hours of time, energy, and emotion on a few days each year, that being in the experience of them transports you to somewhere else and it transcends the event. The music, especially the older versions of familiar tunes, transports me to my childhood and I see myself in my parents's home, in our kitchen, in the car. I remember the aromas of delicious baked treats, special meals, and beautifully set tables. I see our family together - whole again - around the table in celebration. It's so real, it's uncanny. I feel like I am in a time warp and that at any time I may turn the corner and see my grandmother or my mother or any number of loved ones who have left this life. It's an eerie sort of period of time between Thanksgiving and Epiphany - it's like they're all present in the shadows, in my kitchen while I bake, with me when I shop, beside me when I pray... and then, just as quickly as they appear, they fade away until the next holiday season.
This year I am melancholy. I have just lost my Dad. It was a protracted loss and the end for him, and for us, was a difficult, and emotionally painful experience. Both of my parents are now in heaven, but my life will somehow never be the same. Though they are finally reunited, we are heartbroken, and the emptiness I feel inside keeps rearing its ugly head at the most unusual times - especially when I least expect it.
Today while shopping with my husband, I ducked into the card store out of his view so that I could select some Christmas cards...for him, for our daughter, my sister, brother. I was conscious of my effort, but when I went to select cards for examination, I was completely overcome with emotion at the options for "mother," "father," and "parents." I knew those cards would be there...yet I was completely stunned at my reaction and nearly fell completely to pieces in that moment. I felt like this was a cruel sort of joke and I tried not to look, but somehow I was able to pull it together enough to check out without completely dissolving into a pile of tears.
Other reminders of my dad eerily revealed themselves throughout the day. For the first time in my life, while shopping for ornaments, I saw one describing that 'someone was celebrating Christmas from Heaven.' The irony was not lost on me - never had I ever seen such a thing. Convinced it was a sign from my dad, I purchased three of them, one for me, and one for my sister and brother. As we visited a mall, I was surprised by a display of trees I would have missed seeing had I walked the other way. The Hospice organization that served Dad in the last two years of his life had created a display of Christmas trees with dove ornaments, on them bearing the names of those whom they had served and had died. I was nearly overtaken again with the beauty of this, but was also pleased that my good fortune to see it provided me with an opportunity to honor him too. I made sure to show the beautiful display to my husband who had been elsewhere at the time of my discovery. We agreed that a dove in his name would be a beautiful thing.
Three different times today I was reminded of Dad - in fact - I believe he was channeling me with loving messages. Holidays were special times for him too. I recall the great efforts he went to for us; staying up all night to build that WWII model tank for me and my brother (from Santa) only to inadvertently hear us make a game of breaking off the pieces at a later date; the late night runs to my uncle's store to pick up the treasures he and Mom purchased for under the tree on Christmas Day; the way he enjoyed my mom's Christmas cookies, the holiday meals, and surprising her with a piece of jewelry she didn't expect. He was thoughtful, always put all of us first, and clearly lived his life with his family as his priority.
The sadness of this year, I believe, will eventually give way to warm memories that I can enjoy. For now, I think feeling the melancholy is a part of that process. For all of us, growing from a grief experience is achieved by going through it. Losing your last parent is no exception. When January arrives and the shadows fade from my consciousness, I will tuck away the memories for another year...at least until the next holiday season arrives.
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