Christmas was, by far, my Father's favorite holiday. He wasn't the type to go crazy over holidays. We never made grand vacation plans for the Fourth or Memorial or Labor Day. He didn't care much at all about his birthday. He tried to approach every day the same - happy to be there and looking for a laugh. I'm not talking about how he behaved after his cancer diagnosis. This was his attitude every day that I can remember and based on all the stories of what went on before I was born and before I can remember from his friends and family that was how he lived every day of his life. But he loved Christmas. Not simply December 25th or even the 24th and the 25th. He loved the Christmas season. I think a large part of these feelings were based on his affection for Egg Nog. If it were readily available all year long I believe he would have based his dietary needs around it. Also, you would be hard pressed to find another man more willing to sit through Meaningless Bowl Games. Many a time he would call me to ask if I was watching the Beef O'Brady Bowl or who I was rooting for in the Akron v. UTEP matchup later that night. He would laugh while claiming "You can throw the records out when those two rivals get together."
Those of you that were on his yearly Christmas mailing list should recall his claims that he was on his 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th and finally 9th last Christmas. I always believed he wrote that more out of defiance of the prognosis rather than an actual acknowledgement he wasn't planning on being around for the next year. Thumbing his nose at the experts that only gave him eighteen months from the beginning. He loved writing those letters. I don't know that any one in our immediate or extended family were prepared last Christmas for it to truly be our Last Christmas. I know I wasn't. Mother made a concerted effort to stick with the tradition. She even insisted on signing each one individually. As opposed to my suggestion of signing one and photocopying the rest. To be honest, it wasn't out of laziness that I looked for a shortcut, as is usually the case. I did not want to sit down and sign a pile of letters announcing the passing of my Dad. When I did finally get around to it, I hardly looked down at them. Breezing through as quickly as I could while focusing on whatever I could find to keep my mind occupied on the television.
Yesterday was our first Christmas without him. We tried to stay upbeat but it was still kind of sad. Even more than sad, it was empty. It didn't help any that my Lovely Girlfriend was on the other side of the country. Having thirty-five hundred miles between us wasn't the ideal situation but I will see her again. We will have another chance to spend Christmas together, next year and beyond. We will build our own holiday traditions with our own little family. I'm sure I will tell our children just how much their dearly departed Granddad loved Christmas and how much he would love them. I am both looking forward to and dreading those eventual moments.
Hopefully, this will be the hardest Christmas to get through. With a little luck, it will get better from here. I've always felt bad for people that don't like the holidays. I've never wanted those words to come out of my mouth but I had to stop myself from saying it a number of times over the last month. It's not that I don't like the holidays. It's that I currently do not feel like celebrating them. With time, I hope, that feeling passes.
Those of you that were on his yearly Christmas mailing list should recall his claims that he was on his 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th and finally 9th last Christmas. I always believed he wrote that more out of defiance of the prognosis rather than an actual acknowledgement he wasn't planning on being around for the next year. Thumbing his nose at the experts that only gave him eighteen months from the beginning. He loved writing those letters. I don't know that any one in our immediate or extended family were prepared last Christmas for it to truly be our Last Christmas. I know I wasn't. Mother made a concerted effort to stick with the tradition. She even insisted on signing each one individually. As opposed to my suggestion of signing one and photocopying the rest. To be honest, it wasn't out of laziness that I looked for a shortcut, as is usually the case. I did not want to sit down and sign a pile of letters announcing the passing of my Dad. When I did finally get around to it, I hardly looked down at them. Breezing through as quickly as I could while focusing on whatever I could find to keep my mind occupied on the television.
Yesterday was our first Christmas without him. We tried to stay upbeat but it was still kind of sad. Even more than sad, it was empty. It didn't help any that my Lovely Girlfriend was on the other side of the country. Having thirty-five hundred miles between us wasn't the ideal situation but I will see her again. We will have another chance to spend Christmas together, next year and beyond. We will build our own holiday traditions with our own little family. I'm sure I will tell our children just how much their dearly departed Granddad loved Christmas and how much he would love them. I am both looking forward to and dreading those eventual moments.
Hopefully, this will be the hardest Christmas to get through. With a little luck, it will get better from here. I've always felt bad for people that don't like the holidays. I've never wanted those words to come out of my mouth but I had to stop myself from saying it a number of times over the last month. It's not that I don't like the holidays. It's that I currently do not feel like celebrating them. With time, I hope, that feeling passes.
Jules, your post hit me almost as hard as your family's Christmas letter. I thought of you, your sister, and your mom all day. I cried when I read the Christmas letter and can't imagine how hard it was for all of you to read (and sign). I hope every Christmas gets easier, though I know that that empty space that your dad filled will always be there. My love to you and your family...today and every day.
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