“ … it’s been a long cold lonely winter…” and it’s only January 8th. I sit here sick, sad, grieving, waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel.
The holidays were not so “merry and bright”. The first holiday season without my parents has left such an empty, hollow pit in my heart and chest. I tried to be happy. I tried to be grateful. I tried to be accepting. But to no avail.
For Thanksgiving, we traveled down to Charlotte to be with Mikaela and her roommate Liv. It was the perfect diversion. Kyle and Shannon drove down and met us there. We cooked together. Ate together. Played cards. Watched football. The day seemed to fly by with minimal sadness. Yes, I missed my parents and my siblings, but for the past few years, Thanksgiving was not the big family gathering it used to be. So I was OK. I did cry some, but that was to be expected.
Then came the pre-Christmas rush. Music, decorating, traditions. I had all good intentions to make this Christmas the same as usual. Went up into the attic and took down the decorations. Put on the Christmas music. Made plans to put up the tree at my parents’ house. Instead, I got sick. Couldn’t make it to put up the tree. Turned off the Christmas music. Didn’t get anything but the bare minimum of decorations up. I fell into a funk, made worse by being so sick I couldn’t sing out my sorrow, sit up long enough to play the piano, or get out of my own way.
I felt a little better on Christmas Day. As I drove up to Franklin I was anxious and so sad. For the first time in 28 years, I was going to have Christmas dinner with my family of origin. Well, most of them. It may well be the last Christmas dinner we celebrate in this home that has been in our hearts and minds for our entire lives. Nothing could keep me away.
We had decided to make dinner together. The traditional roast beef dinner with all the fixings, I even made the gravy. Not quite Mom’s but passable. Most of the 8 kids were there. For the most part, though, I felt numb. I watched my brothers and sisters, as if in a well-rehearsed play, set the table, cook the vegetables, slice the roast…all of us trying to make this Christmas as close to normal as possible. But the empty seat at the head of the table, and the absence of my mother’s lilting voice calling us to dinner took its toll. Yes, we ate. Some of us exchanged gifts. But when dinner was done, we all kind of sat there, wondering what to do next.
So, we cleaned up, brought out the cookies, some wine, sat around the table and moved through it. We talked and laughed and caught up with each other’s lives, trying to keep it normal. At one point, we all toasted to Mom and Dad, each of us with a shot of Jameson. We toasted to the connection we all felt lucky to still have with each other. We toasted to the love of our parents so evident in our gathering.
When it came time to leave, as I was pulling out of the driveway, Mikaela broke down. “This is where I used to turn around and wave to Grandma until we turned the corner…and she’s not there anymore…” It was a moment that cut into my bones. She’s not there anymore. Neither is Grandpa.

Since Christmas, I have had a couple of major meltdowns. My heart and soul so flooded with grief that I could not speak. My grief has taken up residence in my chest, first pneumonia. Now bronchitis. I haven’t been this sick for this long ever.

I know I’ll get through this loss. I know it will take time. I know my world will never be the same. And I know they are watching over us always. I try to take comfort in that knowing. But most of the time I just want to hear my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone. Feel my father’s arms surround me in a huge hug, as he says, “How’s my Meg today?”