It's already been terribly difficult this holiday season. The thought of my father really being gone is taking its effect on me in deeper ways than I ever imagined. I'm discovering more and more just how much his loss in my life really is. What makes it even more difficult is the fact that I continue to feel like he's going to call me. Quite odd knowing that's not possible but I cannot even begin to tell you those feelings. Real. Very real.
The family tradition has always been to put up the tree on Thanksgiving Day, along with making the rest of the house festive. This year I failed to do so but had nothing to do with any lack of trying. By all means I did, but felt the loss and anger growing within so much that I tossed everything back in the boxes and walked out of my little cozy home to grieve.
A day or so passed and I found myself in front of the tree and boxes once again, only this time inviting my friend C to keep me company. Alas, we sipped my famous cocoa, chatted, decorated - let me tell you how beautiful my place looks, inside and out now. My daddy would have loved it. Even the newly lit Christmas house - ones he loved so much.