I really do love the holiday season. I love the cheer that seems to waft through the air, I love hearing holiday songs in the stores, I love having a Christmas tree in our house all decorated and lit up, I love wrapping presents and giving gifts, I love being with my family. Which is what makes this time of year hard in the midst of all that I love.
My Dad has been gone for seven years, seven months, one week, and one day. I remember every detail of his last 24 hours with us vividly, and probably always will. I remember my heart being broken when it set in that he was going to leave. It has stayed broken, probably always will be broken. Don't get the wrong idea, I definitely don't consider myself as one to dwell on it. I don't mope around or burst into tears every time he is brought into conversation. Quite the contrary actually. I love to hear others talk about him, tell stories, remember him. People have often told me that they're surprised when I do open up about losing my Dad....I just don't let people into that part of me very often, and it's only particular individuals that I allow in.
You would think that it would be his birthday, Father's day, or the day that he actually passed away that would make my heart hurt the most. None of those do. Though I miss my Dad every single day with all of my being, the single hardest day for me is Mother's day. That's another post in itself. After Mother's day, for whatever reason, the Christmas season is water that I tread lightly. I have been thinking of why a lot this year, and have come to the conclusion that it isn't anything exactly that can be pinpointed. I think one main thing is not having him in the group of family that we spend so much time with. Oh, I miss him so.
I recently had a dear friend lose his mother far too early, and much too suddenly. Very reminiscent of how I lost my Dad. The only piece of comfort I could say was that it never stops hurting, but the hurt does get better. And it truly does over time. But, then there are those days like the ones I've had a lot of recently where the hurt is just as fresh, stinging and unbearable as it was the minute that his heart stopped beating, the minute that my Dad was gone.
And then, after I've let the sadness wash over, after it feels as if my heart has broken into a million pieces for the umpteenth time, after I've cried all that I can, I remember who my Dad was and how much he loved me. He would not want me to shed a single tear. He would want me to enjoy the season, and the people that are here with me, and his memory. So, that's what I do. Every single day this time of year, I have a meltdown, I pick myself back up, and I continue with life. Because that's what he would want me to do. He would want me to live.
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