This will be my third Christmas without my dad, and there are days it still feels like the first. For those who don’t know, my dad battled cancer on and off for almost twenty years. It was almost a running dark joke in the family that we celebrated “The 10th Annual ‘Dad’s Last Christmas’”. How hollow that joke feels now.
It’s hard not to associate my dad with the holiday season. Regardless of the fact that he could be a downright Grinch or Scrooge the rest of the year, at Christmas he still lit up in delight at the decorations, the opening notes of ‘The Little Drummer Boy’, good food and wine paired with the expectation of indulgence, and the holiday movie classics that still make us laugh.
As a child, I have many fond memories of my dad at Christmas time. After all, there was nothing quite like the delight on my dad’s face when he was just as surprised as us kids when we opened our presents (thanks Santa, aka Mom).
One year, we went to cut down our very own tree. For most of my life, my dad wore a suit every day to work and nice slacks and a sweater or polo on the weekends. On this particularly chilly December morning, my dad was decked out in his leather loafers, his formal coat, and a brand new pair of slacks. Complaining with every slippery step, my dad lamented about the subpar conditions of the tree farm and questioned the legality of sending normal families traipsing through their property with axes.
When we arrived at the tree, my dad was flabbergasted to discover that we were looking to him to cut the damn tree down. That Christmas my dad gave me the gift of learning SEVERAL new ways to curse and insult a tree until it cried big sap-soaked tears.
My dad’s favorite Christmas movie was National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Even during the most turbulent years of our relationship, watching this movie that we both had memorized and laughing together was a staple of every Christmas.
After my dad died, I watched it over and over, trying to summon the sound of his laughter at all our favorite parts. Last year, I couldn’t watch it at all. This year, my husband held me as I wept from the time the Griswolds were singing in the car to when he awaited his holiday bonus before turning it off in defeat. Maybe next year I’ll be able to get through the whole thing, I tell myself.
As we got older, my dad got bougier and we started spending Christmas in New York City. We ran around like rural Rockefellers, going to expensive dinners and Broadway shows. The city was magical during the holiday season, with each store decorated to the nines. This year, my remaining immediate family is meeting in NYC to celebrate the holidays and I can already safely say my nostalgia is tinged blue at the thought of him not being there.
All of this is to say that even though I love Christmas and I can’t wait to spend the holidays with my family in New York again, I can’t help but think of my dad when the lights are brighter, the laughter is louder, and the world a little merrier than it normally is.
This Christmas, if you feel so inclined, join me in raising a glass to all the ones we wish were still here to enjoy the magic of the season.
And I’m thinking of all of you whose holiday wish is the same as mine: to talk to your loved one just one more time.
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