Pausing to Remember

I was disappointed to miss our church's Service of Remembrance this year.  It was the same afternoon as our outing to The Nutcracker.

Last year when I went the pastor said that we were gathering to "give a voice to the grief" that the holidays can summon.

I know I speak for many when when I say that the arrival of the holidays means the arrival of grief which saunters in unexpectedly and attaches itself to my heart.  I carry the unseen weight around as closely as I carry my Holiday "to do" list.

I really do love celebrating the holidays, especially with the children.  Trust me when I say that my home is filled to the brim with holiday cheer and anticipation.  And I love that.  But for me, there is a silent sorrow that occasionally seeps out.  Like standing in the kitchen and crying a little too hard over the fact that Richard Attenborough was declared to be "Santa" in the 2000 version of Miracle on 34th Street. 

So, I'm pausing here this morning.  While my house is quiet to remember my Dad.

I'm remembering just a few small things about him at the holidays.

Before his health declined he would sit at the head of the holiday table and tell stories.   He told great stories.  His own amazing life experiences provided a healthy supply of material.  Truly.  My Dad led a very interesting life.  I wish I could talk with him more about it now as an adult.

I'm remembering his way of opening presents that used to drive us crazy.  He'd predict (often correctly, which made it more annoying) his gift before opening it.  Then he'd carefully remove the paper, sometimes slicing the tape with his pocket knife so as not to tear it.  Then he'd open the box, peek inside and say "thank you" without showing anyone else the gift.  We'd all complain, "Dad!  Show us what's inside!"

Then, because he was so practical, he'd often say something like, "Mary, you didn't have to do that."  But he really meant it.   It was very difficult to buy gifts for him.  He really didn't want anything.  He was very practical and was not a materialistic person.  He truly was just happy being with his family.

Because of that, one of the funniest things he did (which will sound rude, if you don't know my Dad but he didn't intend it that way at all).  Was when he opened a gift from my Mom that he felt was too extravagant and he said, "Oh Mary!  We'll take that back."  I remember all of us just laughing  because it really was so rude, but my Dad was just an extremely practical person. 

He was probably the only one who could rival me in Christmas Cookie consumption.  Although Kaitlin is showing promise.

We will have a lovely Christmas.  I know that.  There will be plenty of joy and happiness here.  Let's face it, there already is.  But I ache for my Dad.  And I just had to pause for a moment to remember him this holiday.  

I'm also thinking of my friends & family that also carry their own sadness this holiday.  I'm praying for God's comfort for each of you, and a moment of peace for you too, to pause and remember.