So, I’ve posted a lot of funny stuff on Facebook lately. That’s my medium for recording the everyday, the mundane that isn’t mundane at all to this mama. My family has had a lot of happy moments lately.
I don’t have words for how thankful I am for those genuinely happy moments.
But I’m just gonna be real, because I don’t know how else to be.
Quiet house. Everyone asleep but me. I was cutting pickles. Y’all have all seen my pickle post. I have a boatload of pickles to cut. I love doing that task when it is quiet, I can enjoy the monotony and the mindlessness of it when no one can call my name or ask for some orange juice.
Call me selfish. I feel certain I am. I love some “me” time.
But tonight, as I was chopping on some pickles in a quiet house, knowing I was preparing them to put in smaller jars to give as Christmas gifts, it made me think about Christmas itself.
And it hit me: I have to experience another Christmas without my daddy.
I do?? Really???? Another one????
Seems silly, doesn’t it? I know. You understand the finality of death, you understand that you are going to go through a lot of “anothers” without them.
And yet, there is something inside of me that, I suppose, still believes that this is gonna end one day, and I’m going to have a Christmas the way I used to have a Christmas.
Something inside of me still believes that I’ll have another Christmas with my daddy. Here. On this Earth. Soon. Pretty soon.
The finality of losing someone you love as much as I love my daddy doesn’t come with the funeral. Sometimes, I’m not sure it ever comes completely.
Instead, the weight of the finality comes in fragments, in tiny moments, in moments of hope and wonder, in moments of quiet.
In moments of chopping pickles.
My house is quiet. I still have 43 jars of pickles to chop to give away for Christmas. I won’t get them all done tonight. In fact, I’ll be lucky if I get them all done before Christmas.
But as I prepare those presents that I will put in smaller jars with a whole lot of love and appreciation, tonight, all I can think about is the fact that I already did one Christmas without my daddy, and I don’t want to do another one.
Ever. Never. Not ever again.
One was enough.
It was plenty.
I have plenty to do to keep me busy, but Daddy still invades my thoughts, my plans, my hopes and wishes.
I wish he wouldn’t. I wish I could just languish inside the happy moments. And yet, somehow, he still shows up.
Just wish he would really show up. In my kitchen. Right now.
After all, I could use some help chopping those pickles.
I could use some help figuring out how I’m gonna do another Christmas without him.
My house is quiet, and I miss my daddy.