Christmas Eve marks the first anniversary of the last evening spent with Dad. I haven’t written in a very long time. Sometimes the words just don’t come to me – at least ones I want to share.
This is surprising. Most of the time they spill out – usually without regard to self-consequences.
When it comes to memories of my dad, most would seem insignificant or even boring.
On Christmas Eve, I will be clock watching, waiting for the minute hand to pass by that moment when we know dad passed away. The family as a whole will strive, much like last Christmas to proceed as normal. A dinner with family, wrapping the last of the gifts, getting the stockings hung by the chimney with care – all the while, my eyes darting and sometimes merely glancing at the clock.
I plan on sitting silently and praying, taking slow breaths trying to hold on to the moment as well as let it go. I feel guilty that I didn’t get up at midnight as planned. If I had, I would have been by his side just as Mom. I lay there in bed, ten after midnight, trying to pull myself to wakefulness before what I presumed would be long early Christmas morning. At twenty-six after I was springing to my feet, throwing on my scrubs to join my family in tears.
The children were roused from bed or the bathroom brushing their teeth, all of us surrounding Mom and Dad, touching and kissing good-bye. He was at peace but I was not there when I thought I should be.
Rather than our typical calls to family of “Merry Christmas” it was “Merry Christmas. I want you to know that Dad passed away just after midnight getting his wish to see Christmas.”
A year has passed and this is the memory which I dwell on most.
- Craig
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1 comment:
Our prayers are with you and your family.
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