The holidays without him

Tis the season!

Walk into any store, peak into any catalog and it's clear... the holidays are upon us. 

It's the season of festive celebrations, family and traditions. It's a time of joy and love and peace. 

But for those grieving the loss of a loved one, this time of year can be especially hard. 

This year we celebrate the holidays for the second time without my Dad. Last year, just six months after he died, it was difficult. 

There was lots of trepidation going into the holidays. What would it BE like?  Who would eat the turkey skin and sit at the head of the table? Where would we get the pies without his connections to Lisi at Fall River Country Club?

There were heartfelt toasts and lots of flowing wine to ease the unease. There were tears, in private, because that's how we do.

This year, we've lived these holidays without him before so there is more of an opportunity to be reflective, to lean in. As the season approaches, I find myself thinking of him more often and with a heavier heart. I feel the weight of his loss all over again. 

So still the question lingers, how do we celebrate the holidays without him?

And the truth is- we don't.

He's there in the loquacious vocabulary (ahem- bullshit) used by my older brother during after dinner debates.

He's there in the quiet way my younger brother takes it all in before stating his position. 

He's there in the passionate (read: loud) way I communicate my opinions. Also in my bleeding-heart political leaning.

He's there in the quiet. The brief moments between a belly laugh and a child screaming that allow us all a chance to remember. 

He will silently slip into the last pew at midnight mass to hear me sing "O Holy Night" and in a whisper I'll hear "Beautiful job, Laurie Ann".

He will linger on the edge of the craziness as his grandkids tear open their presents.

He'll be standing next to my mother, shaking his head  and giving us his classic tongue click (ttttkkk- man I can still hear it) as he listens to untold stories of our younger and wilder days. 

In the need to soak up and soak in all that the holidays bring.  In the need to appreciate our crazy family that surrounds the table. In the need to embrace, to enjoy, to be together- he's there. Because now we know, tomorrow is promised to no one...

Last year, as we floated through the grief of the "firsts", these things were hard to see and even harder to appreciate. 

This year it seems clear, there are no holidays without him, for he is here. Always. In us and around us.

 Through us, he's here. ❤️

Annual Christmas family picture circa 1989 as evidenced by my big bangs