I work in a bright, shiny, and very busy department store. As hard as it is physically and as little as it pays, I really do like working in retail. Part of the joy is customers who are sweet, fun, and downright sneaky when it comes to buying gifts for the people they're shopping with. This year, with the loss of my father, I seem to notice every couple my parents' age that come in shopping together.
I can't help but imagine my own parents shopping together for gifts for their six grandchildren. (They loved shopping. When I was growing up, money was tight, so financial freedom later in life let them really enjoy giving fun gifts.) And imagining my mom telling my dad that she had a piece of jewelry on hold and he could go get it as her gift. And then I imagine our Worley Christmas, which is never on Christmas day any more, and remember all my childhood Christmases (when I was 10, the age of my middle child, I got Madonna's True Blue, Huey Lewis & the News' Fore, and Don Johnsons's solo album, all courtesy of Dad).
He won't be there this year. My mom's shopping partners this year have been my sister-in-law, nieces, and nephew. I don't know what to expect at our Worley Christmas. Probably it will be sad. My children are keenly aware of their grandfather's absence. We will do our best to hold it together but I wonder why we try to hold it together. It seems like we did so much crying in August that we shouldn't cry now.
It's okay to cry at Christmas. Other days I have felt like I just needed to suck it up and move on, but for this season, I'm fine with crying. I feel angry that my mom is being forced into having a Christmas without my dad. And that my children and nieces and nephew have a grandmother who is so profoundly sad when she wasn't before.
That said, I don't want every Christmas to be marked by tears. This first one, though, is gonna be hard.
Merry Christmas. (Click below for a great example of a somber Christmas song, Joni Mitchell's "River.")
I can't help but imagine my own parents shopping together for gifts for their six grandchildren. (They loved shopping. When I was growing up, money was tight, so financial freedom later in life let them really enjoy giving fun gifts.) And imagining my mom telling my dad that she had a piece of jewelry on hold and he could go get it as her gift. And then I imagine our Worley Christmas, which is never on Christmas day any more, and remember all my childhood Christmases (when I was 10, the age of my middle child, I got Madonna's True Blue, Huey Lewis & the News' Fore, and Don Johnsons's solo album, all courtesy of Dad).
He won't be there this year. My mom's shopping partners this year have been my sister-in-law, nieces, and nephew. I don't know what to expect at our Worley Christmas. Probably it will be sad. My children are keenly aware of their grandfather's absence. We will do our best to hold it together but I wonder why we try to hold it together. It seems like we did so much crying in August that we shouldn't cry now.
It's okay to cry at Christmas. Other days I have felt like I just needed to suck it up and move on, but for this season, I'm fine with crying. I feel angry that my mom is being forced into having a Christmas without my dad. And that my children and nieces and nephew have a grandmother who is so profoundly sad when she wasn't before.
That said, I don't want every Christmas to be marked by tears. This first one, though, is gonna be hard.
Merry Christmas. (Click below for a great example of a somber Christmas song, Joni Mitchell's "River.")
Your strength is amazing. It's good to know that your kids are learning that it is ok to grieve, and that the process can take longer for some than others.
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