The Grinch, the Elf, and Me

Three years ago my dad (on the left, circa 1966, in the photo), newly diagnosed with lung cancer, went into the hospital with pneumonia and nearly died.  Christmas of 2005 was dominated by his illness, yet perspective about what is important in the season, and in life, was made all the clearer when my daughters, son-in-law, wife and I huddled around his bed as he ate the Christmas food we brought him.  Ten months later he was gone for good.  And this Christmas will mark the third one without him.

I miss my parents and my grandparents all the time, but most intensely at Christmas.  In my formative years Christmas served as a sort of emotional "cease fire" in our family.  My mom and dad took a break from their normal bickering to gleefully work together on holiday planning and to overspend on presents (especially for my sister and me).  My dad, too anxious to let my sister and me sleep in on Christmas morning, would play the mischievous elf and shake sleigh bells to wake us up.  My grandparents (dad's parents) came over later in the day, laden with presents, and shared the immense meal my mom made (with the exception of the cranberry-walnut-jello-cream cheese salad my grandma always brought).  My normally sullen grandpa (on the right in the photo), who worked a dirty job in a foundry most of his life and seemed somehow numbed by the direction his life had taken, was full of smiles and laughs and stories, a sort of post-epiphany Grinch.  My sister and I were the princess and prince in all of this, and could not have felt more loved.

After I married and had daughters of my own the dynamic shifted, but it was still fun.  They were the new royalty, and I loved being tucked in the middle of it all.  Then things got crazy - the divorce of my parents in the mid-80's, my mother's untimely death followed by my divorce in 1992, and so on.  Through all these latter changes, while my girls grew up, I had the steady presence of my dad.  He didn't always go the extra mile to stay involved in my life, he didn't like to attend my or the girls' various events, his visits were always too short, and he rarely called me (even though he loved to chat).  But he was there and he loved me unconditionally.  I miss him acutely - he was the last of my ancestors to die and, more than that, he was a hell of a good guy.