Surprisingly, this has been the most emotional Holiday Season for me since my dad’s death in Sept. 2004. I cry at the most inconvenient times, like: walking out of the Target store; or, when the “bagger” at the grocery store asks if I’m cooking for my family this year; or, when I’m driving my car and I see a man walking his dog down his street - just like Dad used to do with our dog years ago.

My sister and I haven’t celebrated Christmas together since Dad died. Some will surely judge me/us as cold and would probably encourage our reunion if for no other reason than “in his memory”. I won’t attempt to justify my decision not to do so by relaying my life story here. Suffice to say, I’m “just not going there”. However, I give myself permission to change my mind at any time. For me, that keeps it out of the “have to” file and in the much more positive (and honest) “possibility” file.

I like your suggestion about imagining a letter from your “lost” loved one. Even though my father and I had completely different views about life and the hereafter, I believe he would be gentle, kind, loving and absolutely, hilariously funny in relaying any message to me now. I think I miss that most about him.

As far as what I miss doing with Dad? I miss taking him for drives. He’d comment about how much more traffic there was say things like, “Where do all these people come from?” And, “How do young couples afford these huge, new homes?” Most often, I’d take him out in the country, which was his favorite place to go. How I wish I could have done this with him more often. It was the only time in my life that we ever came close to just “chatting” together. Not that we talked a lot or about anything “deep”. We just enjoyed the experience together and seemed to delight in making one another laugh. For example, if we passed a herd of cattle, I like to exclaim, “Dad! Look at all the bovine!” He seemed to get a kick out of that. If he was stiff and moved slowly getting out of the car, I would ask him if his butt was asleep. He would correct me and say, “It’s my MY ASS.”

I’m smiling and feel wonderful now.

Thanks for listening.

Love, Jane

Dad was a very successful businessman, but his family was very poor when he was a child. He told me one time that they saved the real toilet paper for company. I was surprised and asked him why he never told me that, or much else about his life, before my sister and I came along. He said he didn’t want me to feel sorry for him. “My God”, I told him. “It makes me respect you all the more.” This also reminds me of something else he said to many too many times to count over the last five years or so of his life. He said, “Old age. I don’t recommend it.” Isn’t that sad?

I’ve been teary numerous times while writing this. I feel calm and peaceful now.

Yes, let’s share some more, I love that.

Smooch

This will be the third year that the holiday blues haven’t ran my life or ruined the holiday. I refuse to let it happen anymore..
tradition.. I just wanted to share one that I have kept doing even when I hated the holiday with a driving passion.
When our daughter was born in 88 we strangely we were given 2 personalized christmas tree ornaments. They have her name and the year. So EVERY year those ornaments are put on the tree. It keeps a part of her alive within me and I think she would want that.

Maybe people would like to share a tradition or two with us??

L