Two Months Later
Holidays weren't the same anymore without her.
Nothing was the same without her. My mom was my rock, my light, and everything to me. My mother was my best friend and the holidays were a reminder of the loss in my life without her around anymore. Death was weird. It is strange and sometimes unfathomable.
One moment a person is here on this earth making cherishable memories with you and the next they are gone.
Completely.
Even as I set the table in her hand-knit Christmas-themed table runner, I felt the loss four years later. As I decorated the tree with ornaments that were once her mother's and now mine. As I laid out the cookies and milk, not forgetting the carrots for the reindeer.
It was all a reminder of what I once had.
Dad was in the living room watching It's A Wonderful Life. Another tradition painted in all things mom. He was quiet as always, resting his head on the palm of his hand just sitting there silently. He struggled with the loss of mom even all these years later.
At first, I was afraid I was going to lose him too, which is what led me to do my clinical year here in Portsneck and to live at home with him throughout the.
"Dad, it's ready."
I set the stuffing next to the turkey, my favorite combination.
It was still light out as we were having an early Christmas Eve dinner. I had to work tonight in the hospital emergency room. Something I started doing as my interest in the PA program at school. I needed to work Christmas Eve so that I could have Christmas day off and spend it with Dad, Clara, and her family.
A new tradition started after mom.
"It looks amazing honey. Thank you." I feel the brush of my dad's gray beard as he kisses my forehead before taking a seat at the head of the table.
"Stuffing made just how you like it." I pass him the bowl, taking a seat to his left. "And the gravy was made just how grandma used to make it." I pointed to the gravy boat. He smiles down at his plate and I swallowed a bite of turkey ignoring the tension.
Dinners were hard without the pressure of a Holiday. My father didn't have a good relationship with his parents so they never came around for the holidays. I made an effort to call them once in a while, knowing it was what mom would've wanted me to continue doing. She was always the one encouraging my father to mend the relationship to no avail.
"Amazing," he chewed a piece of turkey and gave me a thumbs up.
We ate in silence, listening to the faint sound of It's A Wonderful Life playing in the background. We passed one another more stuffing and gravy, both of our favorites until there was almost nothing left. I buy the smallest turkey I can and make just the right amount of stuffing and mashed potatoes, after years of practicing our favorite comfort meal. The leftovers are amazing, but I know we will have a ton tomorrow.
"You have work tonight?" Dad breaks the silence, taking a bite of his apple pie.
Store-bought because my baking skills are nonexistent.
"Yes, overnight. I'll be back in the morning just in time to open presents from Santa." I joke, trying to get him to laugh.
My mother still helped me set out the milk and cookies even well into my teen years, and even up until she died. It was something we always did to keep the tradition of holiday spirit, a way of connecting to our childhood together.
YOU ARE READING
I Wish You The Best
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