“The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree
is the presence of a happy family
all wrapped up in each other” ~Burton Hills
Yeah, right, Burton. We had no Christmas tree, and the family sure as hell wasn't happy. We WERE all wrapped up in Daddy, though. Does that count as a merry Christmas?
Sigh. We tried. We really did. We all put on our game faces and muddled through the holiday season. It was fairly dreadful, although not quite as suicide-inducing as I had feared.
Thanksgiving was easier than I had hoped for; Christmas Day was as well. I found the preparations for both; the anticipation, the second-guessing, the angst was nearly unbearable. In each case I was coping with my own emotions as well as those of my mother and the rest of the family. In the end, we tried to do some things the same and some things differently. As attempts go, it was a good damn try by all concerned. What was missing was Daddy -- both physically, since he couldn't come home, and in all other ways since he has no awareness of special days; if he had he wouldn't be able to remember.
Each of us dealt with it on our own level. I made Daddy a crocheted blanket for his bed. He loved it when he saw it, then promptly forgot where it had come from. I'm OK with that. I made it to keep him warm, and to warm my own heart by knowing it would cover him every night. The other gave him presents he could use and enjoy -- candy & treats, warm clothing, and so on.
At dinner, while saying Grace, my youngest brother mentioned how sad he was that Daddy wasn't there, but how happy he was that our great-nephew was with us. That truly summed up how I felt, too. I am so very, very sad that Daddy -- the Daddy I always knew, loved, and looked up to -- is not with us any more; instead we have this small, frail, forgetful old man who often doesn't recognize our faces. The Ying to that Yang is this beautiful baby boy, Daddy's great grandson, who is not yet two years old; he is new life and hope. Maybe the baby really IS the true meaning of Christmas.
Sigh. We tried. We really did. We all put on our game faces and muddled through the holiday season. It was fairly dreadful, although not quite as suicide-inducing as I had feared.
Thanksgiving was easier than I had hoped for; Christmas Day was as well. I found the preparations for both; the anticipation, the second-guessing, the angst was nearly unbearable. In each case I was coping with my own emotions as well as those of my mother and the rest of the family. In the end, we tried to do some things the same and some things differently. As attempts go, it was a good damn try by all concerned. What was missing was Daddy -- both physically, since he couldn't come home, and in all other ways since he has no awareness of special days; if he had he wouldn't be able to remember.
Each of us dealt with it on our own level. I made Daddy a crocheted blanket for his bed. He loved it when he saw it, then promptly forgot where it had come from. I'm OK with that. I made it to keep him warm, and to warm my own heart by knowing it would cover him every night. The other gave him presents he could use and enjoy -- candy & treats, warm clothing, and so on.
At dinner, while saying Grace, my youngest brother mentioned how sad he was that Daddy wasn't there, but how happy he was that our great-nephew was with us. That truly summed up how I felt, too. I am so very, very sad that Daddy -- the Daddy I always knew, loved, and looked up to -- is not with us any more; instead we have this small, frail, forgetful old man who often doesn't recognize our faces. The Ying to that Yang is this beautiful baby boy, Daddy's great grandson, who is not yet two years old; he is new life and hope. Maybe the baby really IS the true meaning of Christmas.
