Ana’s Advent Calendar, Day 3: Blue Christmas

By special request, I am including a post or two on the blog rather than podcasts only. Today’s topic is a bit emotional, anyway, so writing may be best.

Podcasts one (on Giving Tuesday) and two (on holiday food traditions) are up on Patreon. Normally, my Patreon posts are only open to subscribers. For Advent Calendar, though, the podcasts will be available to everyone. (Story posts, however, will still be for subscribers only.)

Today, as is a yearly tradition, is a day called Blue Christmas. It’s a time once a year to remember loved ones who are no longer with us. We’ve had guest posts talk about loss of parents and other dear ones, but I never imagined that Blue Christmas might mean remembering my dad.

This year, I’m fortunate enough to spend holidays abroad. Putting physical distance between me and everything I’ve known seemed like a good idea, even if the focus is (supposed to be) on getting work and research done. I have a major writing project due, oh, two years ago, and I’d hoped to get it done. Getting sick and adjusted to a new time zone didn’t help, and mostly I feel lazy. Beyond cooking and basic daily life activities, I haven’t done much.

As we get closer to the holidays, though, I find myself surrounded by the presence of my father’s absence. When I see other dads with their daughters, it makes me think of mine. When I hear familiar Christmas music or see Christmas reminders, it brings my dad so close that I swear I can feel him. Hear his laugh. See the twinkle in his eye and groan at his terrible, awful, horrible humor.

It’s been most of a year since my dad died (many of you were there for me during the process), but the loss hits fresh each and every day. Sometimes it mellows into a dream of remembering, and I wake up feeling surrounded with love. Other times, it’s an unexpected chasm in front of me, yawning open with the realization that today, tomorrow, and a thousand million tomorrows I will wake up a fatherless daughter. I’ll never get to have my father alive again. I’ll never get to see his smile, or feel his arms around me, or hear him announce to the people nearest by that I am his daughter.

My dad had only one sibling, a younger brother. They look quite similar, except my uncle has a mustache and Dad shaved every day of his adult life. Due to complicated family circumstances, I only saw my uncle (and his family) once or twice a year as a child and almost never as an adult. When I went to my parents’ house after we left behind my dad’s body in Mayo, his brother and sister-in-law waited with open arms and an enormous box filled with food and necessities to get us through the first few days.

I knew, instinctively, (I think we all do) how to grieve at first. Our bodies know what they need to do, and they shut down. They force us to focus on the trauma and loss, and they make everything else impossible.

Eight months later, I no longer feel like vomiting at the sight of food. I can sleep at night, and I’ve returned to work. I’ve even started writing again, which in the first days seemed an impossibility. I’ve never returned to full productivity, and some parts of my life may never find “normal” again. But on the whole, I’ve found a new normal. A new way of living.

Except for the holidays. I’ve discovered that my commitment to Blue Christmas and creating a safe space amidst holiday noise is much easier when I create that space for other people. For myself, I don’t know where to start.

How do we find a space to grieve, but to make new joy?

How do we hold onto the love and memories while grappling with the lifelong ramifications of complicated, screwed-up families that commit unforgivable sins against its own members?

How do we live and love while losing and limping?

How do we celebrate, yes celebrate, when our hearts feel as if they will implode from the combined weight of painful memories, a shattered future, and a present full of uncertainty?

Some days, I’d like to wrap myself in a sweet-smelling, freshly laundered quilt and disappear into a ten-year hibernation. I’d like to wake up when the grief has receded, and I want the hurt to go away. I’ve never shied from grief, but I’ve never known it to this degree.

I have lost the man who raised me, helped to name me, and set me on life’s path as a tiny child.

I have lost the hope of family Christmases together, of making new memories, and finding healing as age mellows the sharp-edged miscommunications of youth and young adulthood.

Meanwhile, I’ve got a border collie nudging at me for attention and food, a lovely host urging me to go to the park, and fresh banana bread cooling on the kitchen counter. An uncompromising lump of what should have been bread dough, but either the yeast died or the 18-month-expired flour went on strike. I blame the latter. 🙂

I don’t have any answers for you today, and I suspect that you don’t have them for me, either. What is loss, after all, if not an inherent part of growing up and growing old? If we can’t learn to grapple with loss, we can’t live. Simple as that.

Except it’s one thing to read and theorize about grief, and it’s another to wrestle with it every day.

Dad, I miss you. I’d give anything to have one last conversation with you. One last hug, one last ridiculous joke, one last smile.

Love you, Dad.

And love to everyone else who is grieving a loss this year.

 

 

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5 thoughts on “Ana’s Advent Calendar, Day 3: Blue Christmas

  1. pao says:

    Hugs, Ana. I’m sorry this holiday season is an extra difficult time for you 😦 it’s strange, but when imagining the loss of a loved one, I’ve never thought beyond the person dying. And it’s those periods after the funeral where things are supposed to go back to “normal” that is really most difficult. Maybe it’s just not knowing what to expect…or not knowing how deeply the absence of someone cuts. You’re right, there aren’t any answers to living with this grief and also wanting to celebrate life. But I hope you find little (or great!) moments of joy to celebrate this season amidst your loss ❤ I'm very glad that you're abroad with a lovely host 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. rozharrison says:

    Hi Ana, which a heartfelt post. I am so sorry that you find yourself writing the Blue Christmas post from your own perspective this year and that this holiday season us especially difficult for you. I pray that soon the strongest emotion will be joy at wonderful memories, even though the loss never truly leaves.

    I am so glad you are abroad with alovely caring host and hope you find moments of happiness this season.

    Hugs
    Roz

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Anna says:

    Ana,

    Your words moisten my eyes with sadness and compassion. I offer my sympathy and condolences to you as you work through the difficulties of a most painful loss.

    While you may feel fatherless now, your dad lives on in you, and when you share stories about him, you bring your dad back to life for us to share in both your sadness and love.

    Yes, the thousand, million tomorrows seem like an eternity, and maybe it is, for it causes us pain to realize fully that we have lost a loved one, like your dad. I can’t tell you that your grief will get better anytime soon, but over the years, the sharp pain will dull into a tolerable hurt, especially when you discover that you carry on many of your dad’s admirable traits. You will then do for others as he once did for you, and you may always turn to us for support and comfort.

    Like

  4. minellesbreath says:

    Ah…. yes what you write is true in how we grieve . It is very hard when we lose our parent or parents.
    I feel as the others do, try and embrace the love and lessons they taught us. Experience all you can of this season over seas. What a gift to be able to continue to heal over the loss of your father with your friend.
    Dream of those moments and memories of your dad.
    I’m not able to write as poignantly as those above but know that I understand these thoughts of grief and loss.
    Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. JoanneBest says:

    Sending you love and Prayers dear Ana, I’m sorry, that’s all I can manage this year.
    I have nothing left inside right now, and I’ve been so out of touch your Advent calendar passed me right by as did so many other things this last year.
    Here’s to a New Year filled with Love and Peace, hopefully, at this most difficult time of the year, we who have suffered loss can remember with tears of love rather than tears of sadness. So much love to you and yours ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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