“Waking up on Christmas morning, hours before the winter sun’s ignited” These lyrics are running a loop through my (very addled) brain right now. But not for the reasons you may think.

I’m awake, at 3am, because I’ve run out of distractions. The tree is lit, the house cleaned, the presents wrapped and the house is quiet. And now I have nothing but time to face the one thing I’ve dreaded my whole adult life. You see, on December 14th I lost my daddy. For over a week, I’ve been “fine”. I’ve managed to squeeze out a few tears – mostly at inappropriate times. But I’m beating myself up over the fact that I haven’t “grieved”.

I have memories (most from the eye-rolling stage, which, I believe, is the next stage after pupa).  But I also have questions, like was he proud of me? Or was I just a series of disappointments… I imagine our respective recollections of my life might be very different. Not being a parent myself, I find it hard to see myself through his eyes.

I also have an abundance of guilt. I live in another state, far from my parents. The last time I saw my dad was two years ago, and that will eat at me ’til my last breath. That’s certainly not the last time we spoke, as a matter of fact, he called me after his second round in the hospital. And if you knew him even the teensiest bit, a call from Dad was A BIG DEAL. Then there is the guilt for my family. My sister, for having to be the “strong” one. My brother, the sensitive one, bravely soldiering on. My mom, who I take after more than either of us will admit to. And I can’t be there for any of them, nor can they be here for me.

I’ve been VERY private about my grief. I’m the type of person who says I’m “fine”, gives a smile, and crawls away to cry in private. And here I am, in the most un-private venue, finding my voice. I want nothing. No condolences, no pitying glances, no hugs. And here is where I can find that. An anonymous person. Most of you reading don’t know me. Those that do will understand.  And here is where I can bare my soul, becoming a snot-fueled, blithering mess. And you’ll have to excuse any typos/grammatical errors, as I can barely see right now.

These are the words I’ve needed to say in order to begin healing. I’ve avoided any holiday get-togethers because I couldn’t give a heartfelt Christmas wish. But I’m beginning to see that wishes for the season don’t have anything to do with my particular circumstances. It’s not all about me. I’ve spent so much energy avoiding eye contact that I’ve missed what the season is really all about. Flaws and all, perfect strangers can wish you well. And friends will understand.

And now, after getting that all out, I can finally say – without reservation – that I wish you all a most peaceful Christmas.