Christmas

Winter purging has begun at our house. You would not even know that Christmas just occurred if it were not for the sweaters and shirts lying on our bed with the price tags on them, or the unfamiliar sounds of newly purchased music streaming from Tony’s stereo. It’s the second day after Christmas and all that reminds us of the day has been packaged up and is now stacked in boxes in the garage where it will grow cold with the coming days. I am hoping to grow warmer as the new year approaches despite the chilly weather. Life has been much too stressful, and the build up to Christmas took everything out of us, so we’re now on recovery-mode before the responsibilities of work seep back into our daily routine. But, mostly, we miss dad.

Time passes so quickly, and it has been just over four months since dad left us for the next life. Closer to the time that he passed, all of us who knew him intimately felt that he was not far, that we could still talk to him and he would speak to us through our heart’s disclosures. As the days progress, I find myself wishing to receive the secrets and bits of wisdom that I could hear him whisper from above, yet they are not there. Mother still communicates with him which gives her and us comfort, though it’s often when her soul cannot bear the next moment without him, and somehow she finds the strength to move forward. As I reflect on our first Christmas without dad, I find that I have most longed to hear his voice. Grandma Hilda even shared that she kept waiting for dad to appear from the other room and for him to engage with his brother in a lengthy philosophical conversation about God, or for him to grace us with one of his party-lifting jokes. We miss hearing him around us. We miss his hugs and his warmth and his profound understanding of life. We miss him.

Becky and I attended the 11:00 pm mass in St. Helena on Christmas Eve after sharing a Martha Stewart-inspired dinner with my husband’s parents at mom and Becky’s home, that evening. Beck and I arrived in St. Helena early enough to make a visit to the cemetery to admire the headstone that had recently been mounted at dad’s gravesite. We are most grateful for the U.S. Air Force for providing us with such a glorious marker and for the most honorable procession of his final farewell at the gravesite after his funeral. Beck and I found our seats in dad’s church somewhere towards the back. Both she and I looked for solace in this church on this night that we were to be thinking of Christ and his birthday. As soon as Father Brinkle proceeded down the isle, he spotted us in the crowd and comforted us with a glance and a wave. He mentioned to the Christmas church-goers that we were in the audience and that this would be the first Christmas without our dad. We tried to remain composed underneath our drapes of tears though they just kept falling and falling…we both kept expecting dad to walk out onto the alter and stand next to Father, and it was even more strange and heartfelt to take communion because this was dad’s favorite part of the mass. We miss him…

Christmas itself was lovely—Tony and I celebrated together on X-mas Eve, then we exchanged sentimental gifts with mom and Beck on X-mas day. I think Becky’s gift to mom took the cake—she purchased the original prints of cartoons that were drawn of dad in the local St. Helena newspaper (The St. Helena Star) each week after he passed. We spent the rest of the day with dad’s older brother and family in Sacramento where we delighted in a feast of turkey and delicious side dishes. But, ahh…it’s over, and I am so relieved. But most of all, I am anxious to discover new secrets about life, to share my musings about what life has been like since daddy began his new journey; I’m anxious to love my family as much as humanly possible, and to tender love to others as dad showed us how to do. Thanks, dad, and we hope to hear from you soon….

Thanksgiving

I had a dream about dad, last night. In my dream, it was nighttime and I was in St. Helena at The Church That Dad Built. People had gathered on the lawn outside of the church, some were sitting on chairs in a circles, some were following each other in a procession, and they were all talking about dad. It seemed that we had all come together to remember him and reminisce about all that he had given us in our lifetimes. I felt very moved that all of those people had come together to celebrate his life, and how fitting it was that we had all returned to the church to remember him.

Tony and I commented yesterday how dad will always live in our home, too; he painted and installed a screen door on our front door, and we have stones from the church in St. Helena (that were part of the original building) outlining the flowers to the right of our driveway.

Today is Thanksgiving. For many people, today will be observed by spending time with family and eating an exorbitant amount of turkey and stuffing. Some people might converge with strangers to share a meal, or they'll gather and perhaps eat more modestly because they could not afford to buy all the traditional Thanksgiving preparations. Some, too, are without all of these such blessings, and are just trying to survive another day. Dad wants us to cherish what we have been given and think of those who need love on this day. He wants us to think about the soldiers who are fighting over seas and their families who long for them to return home safely, and for the families whose sons or daughters, sisters or brothers, mothers or fathers have died serving their country.

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to so many people on this day because my little family (Tony, mom, Becky and I) and I have been blessed by such precious gifts and so much love over the past several months since dad's passing, and what better day to say "thank you" than today.

I must sincerely thank my family--the Little's, the Venuto's, the Jackson's, the Arnett's, the Bloomstine's and Granlees. My appreciation for you spans lifetimes, and I will always be grateful for the love that you gave us during the time of our shared loss.

And for all of our friends--for those who we see more often than others (you give us strength every day), those who knew dad when he began his life with my mother, for those whom we saw on Sunday afternoons at the A's ballpark, especially those who remained friends with our family when every Sunday turned into two Sundays a year; for those whom dad and mom spend time with every day or on a frequent basis but whom Becky, Tony, and I only had the pleasure of visiting with on special occasions. For friends whom dad made the instant he met them but never saw again, for our neighbors, for friends with whom he taught, patrolled, battled, toasted, with whom he labored politically and with whom he served God in his church, I cannot say how much you mean to me and to my family. You are our "rights of line". You are in our hearts forever.