Missing Someone at Christmas

I’m going to get away from my series about parenting aspecial needs child today to talk about something I think most people canrelate to.  I hope you don’t mind. I’llget back to the story about Imma’s journey tomorrow.

Word has it that the Mayans believed the world would come toan end in 2012.  As we approach the dateof the end of the Mayan Calendar and people across the globe discuss whether ornot they truly believe the world is going to end, I’d like to point somethingout.  The world already ended in2012.  If perception is reality, ifperspective determines realness, the world ended in 2012. The Mayans were stillwrong.  They were off by about 7 months.But as far as I am concerned, 2012 marked the end of the world, my world, as Ihad always known it. What I am living in now is something else, some new world,some different age, something I am building and creating as I go along.  Because my world will never be the samewithout my dad.

Maybe that sounds overly-dramatic or sappy, the world endedbecause my dad died, but if you’ve been in the position where you have lost aloved one, then you know exactly what I am talking about.  Sure, time still marches forward, we keepspinning, keep moving, but everything is different.  You will never hear a song the same way,watch a movie the same way, eat the same way. Everything is tied to a memory, a moment, a laugh or a smile.  It’s the same planet but it’s a differentworld.

Christmas has been particularly difficult because I spentalmost all of my Christmas’s with my dad. I think I may have missed five or sixat most because we have lived so far apart the last few years.  Every Christmas since Imma was born, my dad,youngest sister, and step-mom have come down to visit us, except last year.  A few years ago when it snowed heavily onChristmas Eve, they made the trek through the ice and snow just in time forchurch. They only went in the ditch once. But that’s how my dad rolled, literally. I remember the first ChristmasEve service he went to at the church we attend. After the service, he patted me on the shoulder and said he was proud ofme for finding such a great church to take Imma to.  Those are the types of memories Christmasevokes.

And there are thousands of those memories.  ChristmasVacation, can’t watch it this year. Love that movie but keep hearing my dad laugh every few seconds.  He always misquoted the line but I love itjust the same, “The little lights aren’t twinkling, Clark.”  It’s the same with A Christmas Story, It’s aWonderful Life, any of the cartoons. They all elicit memories of my dad laughing, calling us silly names,like “Klonk,”  or “Slonk-oh,” quotingline after line and eating popcorn on the couch.

My dad and I dancing at my wedding, photo bomb courtesy of my little sister, Braidi.

When I am in the car almost every song brings back memoriesof my dad, an extremely gifted musician. This summer, I remember being blinded by tears as I drove to the storeto the tune of, “Take Me Home Tonight,” simply because my dad had owned the 45.Christmas music brings a whole different sort of sadness.  My dad sang carols like no one else. He had asweet falsetto, beautiful harmony, and a gift for finding exactly the rightkey.  He would also change the word tothe song so that our names were in it. Every time I hear “I’ll Be Home forChristmas”  I hear my dad’s versions, “I’llbe home for Amy,” except he would purposely sing my name in a booming bassvoice off-key.  Those were the sillythings that will always stick with me. Those are the memories I am glad to havebut they still make Christmas very difficult.

My dad loved my home-made pizza. I’m not sure why.  I don’t cook so it’s nothingcomplicated.  Pre-made crust, jar ofpizza sauce, bag of cheese, and toppings. That’s all.  But he loved it so we had it almost everyChristmas Eve.  One time he didn’t getany because he was out picking up a few things I needed when we were eating. Itried to save him some but it was all gone. I’ll always remember things like that, the time I wish I had back to doover.  And every Christmas Eve, we willeat pizza, and miss Paw-Paw because he could eat pizza like no one else.

We will make new memories now, in this new world, the onethe Mayan’s predicted so long ago.  Wewill make silly songs for our girls, watch movies for the first time, laughbecause Lucy calls Elf “Santa” instead of Buddy.  We will eat pizza, probably store bought thisyear though because I don’t feel like making it.  We will give each other silly names and eatpopcorn on the couch.  And we will talkabout Paw-Paw. We’ll remember all of the good times we spent watching Christmasmovies and laughing.  We’ll talk aboutwhat he used to say, what he would have said, and what he would have sang orwould have preferred to eat.  We’ll go tochurch and be happy that dad thought it was a good place to be.  At the same time, I, like many of you, willneed a moment from time to time to catch my breath, to wipe away some tears, tofind the joy around me and to know that dad is there, even if I can’t seehim.  As Charlie says in The Santa Claus,“Just because you can’t see something, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”  My dad is a real part of our lives, still,and always.  This Christmas I will misshim so very much, but I will  continue toconstruct this new world, one memory at a time.