Obviously I knew this day would come. The first anniversary of my dad's death. Technically, last year was the first Christmas without my dad, but he died on Dec. 23rd, so everything about that Christmas was weird, including COVID.
This year has been quite surreal. I thought the passage of time would help the grief, but it hasn't. What has surprised me is that it started to worsen each month. I have moments where I have to actually tell myself, "My dad is dead". In a dream I had, he was so real, so present that I, again, had to tell myself that he had died.
This year I've handled the holidays in a way that would disappoint someone as Mr. Christmas as my dad. I know the way to really honor him would be to get the tree up and have as many lights as possible, and then some, strung upon it. But, I'm not strong enough for that right now. Christmas music is more like a funeral dirge than anything jolly. Mustering the creativity and energy for creating another Jarvis themed Christmas card seemed an epic feat. Shawn and I aren't exchanging gifts, but have talked about getting a new tv as a joint gift. I pulled my holiday themed attire out of storage, but haven't worn much of it. No cookie baking has been done, even the simplest of recipes.
In a typical year, the Friday after Thanksgiving is the kick-off. We would probably have our cards ready to go. The tree would be up. Christmas tunes playing in the car instead of podcasts. The first t-shirt with a holiday theme would be worn along with some socks. Then, as the days move on, I would shop and I would bake. Then there would be wrapping and shipping. All of those things that my dad loved about the holidays.
Today, I woke up not wanting to think about what this day is. I didn't want to remember waking up to my mom's voice telling me he was gone. But, I did. I never read last year's Christmas letter that he managed to send. Today, I took a stack of letters from years past and read them. They represented history, but also showed his decline through the years. After I finished that stack I went to my desk and took out last year's letter. It was so very brief, only one sheet of paper front and back. I didn't cry. I really thought I would cry, especially at the end.
My dad had done a long stint in the hospital and rehab which ended with him coming home the day before Thanksgiving. When he came home he worked on cards and the letter. On December 21st he was back in the hospital and died on the 23rd. I give this little timeline because of something he wrote in the letter. His letter always included an in memoriam section to list those who had passed throughout the year. He began the in memoriam with, "While John is blessed to be back at home and doing better, we recognize and remember fondly those we have lost this past year..." Little did he know that he would become a part of that list a short time after writing those words.
