I have to admit, I am not a fan of this time of year. It wasn’t always this way. For over half my life I had as much holiday spirit as anyone. Then, just before the Christmas of 1999, Dad went into Hospital. We all put Christmas on hold until he got out.
He never came out.
In the mid-90s, Dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. We didn’t know it at the time, but he had far more than that. In just a few years, he was gone. My son had just turned three ten days before.
As anyone who knew him could tell you, he was a strong, intelligent, kind, man. And, more than that, he was “cool.” Dad taught high school math & physics and coached football & track. He’d been a scholar/athlete himself, and did his best to help young men and women achieve their best. He’d taught & coached kids who went on to be in the NBA, NFL, and Olympics.
He was a rock. He was our rock.
It’s been 23 years, and the hole he left in my life is still there. The edges aren’t as raw, and sometimes I hardly notice the connection with the time of year. But it never really leaves me.
So, I trudge through another holiday season.
In the last five years, I’ve also lost my Mum and one of my younger brothers. As hard as those were, and as much as I miss them, it’s still Dad that weighs on me most.
If you find me less than cheerful around this time of year, this is the reason.