It’s surreal, sad, and strange…but it’s going to happen.
Christmas Eve is the big night for those of Polish background — a night of no-meat feats, the sharing of blessed, unleavened bread between family, the opening of gifts, and going to church…with much digesting before and after, lying around like beached whales on any available couch.
But it won’t be the same this year, with my father gone. He won’t be sitting in his customary seat at the head of the dining table, desperate for that first, wonderful shot of tequilla he always craves on this night…watching with bemused interest as my sister and I open our presents in the same way we did when we were 9 years old…always saying “you shouldn’t be spending money on me”…and then slowly snoozing away on his lazyboy chair in the basement, in front of a TV playing whatever DVD or video we happened to get as a present that year…
Reality has become memory. The new reality is a visit to his snowed-over grave in the cemetery, where both my mother and my sister will breakdown, and I will do my best to hold them together.
In some ways, I’m almost glad that my father died 12 days ago…it gives us a chance to make Christmas a celebration of his memory, and not necessarily a re-visited funeral, full of despair.
But it’s small consolation at this time of year. Wherever he is, I hope he’s watching over us, giving us the strength to get through this yuletide season without too much pain and sorrow.
Merry Christmas, Dad. I miss you terribly.
