November 1 (A Day Late)

November 1. The time of year when the excitement of Halloween is over and we transition into the anticipation of the Holidays. The stores are beginning to stock their Christmas inventory way too early (if they haven’t done so already), and people will soon be a buzz with whatever controversy the Starbucks “red cup” will inflame. Years ago, I loved this time of year – the family gatherings, traditions, decorating the house. But now, it seems more like a chore, and as I ponder why, I can only think it’s due to the passing of my dad.

I’m not looking for sympathy – I know eventually everyone will lose a parent and that someone always has it worse. But I think it’s especially difficult to deal with the lose of a loved one by suicide. You miss out on any type of closure or understanding of why. You keep neatly tucked away in your mind wonderments of missed warning signs or cries for help, or even regrets for the last encounter you had. That day I didn’t only lose my dad, I lost any sense of innocence I had. Maybe that sounds naïve that a 31-year old could have still had a perception of innocence in this world, but that’s the best way I can describe it. Perhaps as you age it more shifts towards ignorance – call it what you will, but for me it was a sense of security almost. That I have a mom and a dad, and although their relationship may be strained, they are still here for me to count on despite them being together or apart. Whatever happens in my life I will be ‘ok’ because I have my family to support me.

That takes me back to my original point – the holidays. I used to embrace them with open arms and excitement. The extended time spent with aunts, uncles, cousins, and the new babies that have joined the family was something to look forward to. Not that I don’t currently look forward to that time (because I do), but it’s just not the same. The dynamic has changed. August 7, 2011 is not only the day I lost my dad, it’s the day I lost my holiday spirit. Every year I still think he’s going to walk through the doors, but he never does. The holidays are a time when you are reminded what is most important – the family time – and a time when it’s most evident who is missing. The holidays are now a time of sorrow for me. Sorrow for realizing my kids will never know their grandpa and how much he would have spoiled them (with both things and love). Sorrow for not being able to even remember the last holidays I spent with my dad. Sorrow for feeling as though he's forgotten but only remembered by me.

But I go through the motions. I put on a smile when the kids pick out the Christmas tree, I lavishly decorate the house with accessories to promote Christmas spirit (even down to our coffee mugs), and I invest many hours perfectly wrapping each gift, because I know it’s important to my kids. I wonder, though, if one of these years I will get back my Christmas spirit. When does the void of missing someone evolve into something else? Does it always remain that way and I have failed to learn how to move through it? I know that instead of dealing with the emotions I’m plugging their holes with senseless decorations and meaningless holiday trinkets, but maybe I’m also trying to start new traditions as I settle into my new normal. So much changed that year; I lost my dad and became a parent for the first time. I had too many traditions change at one time – some due to joyful reasons and others due to loss. At what point does that ‘aha’ moment finally occur?