I completely understand the joy surrounding the holiday season. Gathering with friends and family, having special meals you usually enjoy once or twice a year, and exciting fall and winter activities. Celebrating the holidays is definitely something to be excited about. I do enjoy spending time with my friends and family because they're all that I have. Honestly, I'm not as excited as most are. I tend to not focus too much on them and just continue doing things that will keep me as distracted as possible until they're over. I'm sure after reading that last sentence most would call me a scrooge. Can't say that they're wrong, but I don't dislike the holiday season for no apparent reason. As difficult as it is for me to try to tell this story, even though it's so vividly engrained in my brain, it's the only way to fully explain why I'm not a huge fan of the holidays.
Growing up, the holiday season was always my favorite. I looked forward to having a full house, spending time with family I didn't get a chance to see often, and of course the food and gifts. What child didn't enjoy those things? My father loved Christmas. We always had lights all over the house, inflatable figurines in the yard, dozens of ornaments on our tree, and so many more things that made me love Christmas more than any other day of the year. In November 2006, we started decorating for Christmas unusually early, but as a 10-year-old girl, I didn't mind that at all. By the time Thanksgiving had come around, the house was fully decorated, Christmas pictures had been taken, cards had been sent, and presents had been bought and were already under the tree. Again, it was odd that things were done this early but we continued about our usual routines.
On a chilly day in early December, December 2nd to be exact, we had planned as a family to just run errands, take care of things around the house, and possibly take care of some yard work. Didn't seem like anything strange. I come inside from helping my dad and go upstairs to my room to put something away. As I leave my room and turn to walk down the stairs, my heart sinks. I see my dad, on his hands and knees at the bottom of the stairs, clenching his chest. He had a history of heart attacks, but the look of sheer agony in his eyes told me that this was something beyond what I had seen before. I run to get my mom, who runs downstairs to help him. I frantically find my younger sister, who was 6-years-old at the time, and tell her that something is wrong. We immediately begin to panic and cry, because I just knew something wasn't right. The ambulance was on its way, as was my grandmother. I stand outside on the front porch shaking in fear, praying the ambulance would arrive quicker. Once they arrived, they immediately began to help my father, who was writhing in pain on the living room floor. One of the EMTs took my sister and me upstairs, away from all of the commotion, trying to calm us down and tell us that everything would be okay. We came downstairs to say goodbye to our father, who was screaming in pain while being wheeled on a stretcher to the ambulance.
My sister and I had gone with our grandmother to the hospital, and my mother stayed with my father in the ambulance. Once we arrived, we found my mom in the waiting area in tears. I immediately knew something wasn't right. This had happened before, and she had never acted like that. Family members were flying and driving in from all over. The doctors said it was bad, he was on life support. I couldn't process everything that was going on. I didn't understand how it could be that bad when it had never been that way before. We spent hours at the hospital. I wanted to see him, I wanted to know he was okay. I was told no because he didn't look like himself. He was hooked up to dozens of machines to keep him alive. Once it had gotten fairly late, a family friend had taken us to our grandmother's house for the night. How could I sleep knowing that the life of someone I loved was on the line?
I wake up early the next morning, exhausted from hardly any sleep. I think my mother and grandmother arrived back at the house around 8:00am, looking utterly drained. Family from out of town started to arrive shortly after. Before they arrived, my mother sat my sister and I down to tell us that my father's heart had stopped early that morning. He wasn't coming home. I didn't understand. I didn't understand how it could have been that bad because it had never been that bad before. On that day, December 3rd, 2006, I lost a part of myself forever. I just remember sitting alone in the living room with no lights on, staring outside at the gloomy gray sky that hung above the trees. What was I supposed to do? At 10-years-old, your main responses are to cry, scream, or laugh. I had cried to the point where I could no longer do so. I was numb with pain. It was a pain I had never felt, and pain that I would wish on no one.
The next few days were a blur. I missed school for a while, simply because I couldn't take all of the questions from everyone around me. I tried, but I didn't last long. Funeral plans were arranged quickly, and it wasn't something my mom had planned on doing anytime soon. I still didn't know what to feel. My only response was to cry. It was as if my heart and soul were ripped out of my chest, leaving a cold, dark, and empty cavity. I said my goodbyes to him, the man who will always be my everything. I couldn't bear to see him like that. Cold and lifeless. The warmth and glow in his cheeks were gone. It wasn't the same man. I still hoped and prayed that this was all a lie and he would wake up and things would be as they had been. But this was my new reality. Christmas had come and gone, and the joy and sparkle in my 10-year-old eyes had gone with it. There will always be an empty void during those days that will never be filled.
Ever since that cold December day, my world had changed. I find it difficult to imagine my life before everything happened, as it was almost 10 years ago. I'll never fully cope with what happened that day, but I've accepted that it is my new reality. As far as the holidays, the empty void is still there and each year it gets a bit easier. I thank the Lord above for the family that I still have here with me today, and for giving me the time with those that have already left us. I also thank the Lord for giving me a new reason to find joy in the holiday season, despite the emptiness I feel that will never subside.
