Today, we’ll help my dad finally drag out a few decorations to make the place look more Christmas-y. Is this anger in me what grief feels like? If I drill down a bit, I think it’s not really anger. It’s more like “pointless”. Or maybe “withdrawn”. I think I’d rather just not.

As a 6 year old, I was part of the package deal when she married dad. Incorrigibly inquisitive. Daft. Determined. Hyper-energetic. In some senses, “feral” might fit. I was supposed to be compliant. I was not defiant. Just unwieldy.

We found a rhythm that worked. I stayed clear, for the most part. I became funny. Humor always disarmed her. Just so long as I wasn’t a bother it was okay.

Then I left home. It got better still. She said she was proud of me. It was the script she told all the kids. I received it.

Marriage, kids, life. More moves. Closer, farther.

Farther still.

Covid. Damn Covid. Total isolation for 2 years. She didn’t want to get sick. She didn’t.

She didn’t get Covid.

Cancer. Again.

Damn Cancer!

Our crew came to see her for a few days. It was a sweet time I’ll always cherish. I came back to help out in the last days. We said our goodbyes.

Then she was gone.

Every decoration has her imprint on it. She made most of them. Reminders of all the time she spent making things. Time spent.

They’re just things. So. Many. Things. Everywhere. If only we had more time to spend.

One of these days I’m gonna get that “no regerts” tattoo…

1 thought on “Decorating

  1. commenter

    Be curious. Find joy. Ask him conversational questions that will draw stories out of him. Be present. Be you. He needs you. Remember he’s struggling, too.



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