Tonight, I really don’t feel like writing. I want to curl up in a ball under my plush, warm, inviting blanket, close my eyes, and get lost in sleep. This has been a tough week.
Every year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Chris, our children, and I would meet my dad, siblings, stepmom, and step-siblings for our family get together. For a couple of years, we met at Dad’s or a sibling’s home, but we decided that it would be easier to meet at a centrally located hotel in Missouri.
Each family would arrive at different times throughout the day. We would meet Dad in the lobby and check into our rooms. Chris, the kids, and I would try to arrive early so I could sneak in a quick lunch and talk-time with Dad, before his afternoon nap. Later that afternoon, we would all meet in the hotel conference area. Our children would noisily play, as we brought in our parts of the planned meal, carried in and organized Christmas gifts, and snapped numerous family photos. My Dad would sit at the table and talk with whichever sibling was available to chat, while everyone else performed their designated duties.
After the meal, it was time to open our Christmas presents, which with 8 kids and 20+ grandkids was an ordeal. My dad and stepmom tried to watch every grandchild open his/her presents, but it was almost impossible. Dad would simply glance in a direction and nod as the grandchildren on that side of the room would scream, “thank you, I really like my (fill in the blank).” I don’t think he caught most of what they said, but he looked like he was listening.
I really appreciated my gifts because they were what we had asked for, but my favorite part was watching Dad open the gift we brought for him. He always acted like it was the best present we had ever given him, even when it was handmade because we didn’t have the money to buy something nicer.
After the meal and gift cleanup, we would head off to our beds. Dad was exhausted by the end of the evening, so he was usually the first to disappear. If I timed it right, I could catch a quick hug and say, “goodnight, Dad, and thanks for the gifts,” before he snuck to his room.
The next morning after breakfast, he would find a time to steal me away so he could give me some gas money and share some insider information about his latest business and/or personal adventures. Then, we would pack the car and give our goodbye hugs.
I miss his hugs.
This year, I am trying to recall the good memories, rather than dwell on what I have lost, but it is difficult. I want to see his face and hear his voice again. I want to hear his laugh. I want to see his reaction to the “perfect” Christmas present I found for him the month before he died, but I didn’t get to give him. I am sure he would have loved it.
I close my eyes, try to remember his arms around me, and listen for his fading laughter.
I miss my dad.
That was really great you wrote that perfect Crystal. You’re a wonderful writer and thank you. I love you and I’m just wanting to tell you I’m missing Daddy too. You always write good things and you’re a really good writer. I love you. Your sister Heather.
Crystal this the first post where I felt your loss come through and I missed the warmth you usually feel under neath your writing. I understand and until it is all over and finished will you be to finally let go. Thanks for sharing your heart with us and your precious memories. Regardless, you will always have those wonderful times with your Dad.
My Dad passed when I was eleven and I cherish those time I spent with him.