Hi Daddy. Paw. Dear Ol’ Dodd. Sea Hag.
It’s Christmastime, your favorite time of the year. We put up our tree this past weekend, including the little baby-in-a-nutshell ornament I made in kindergarten and the ornaments Grandma M crocheted and that one piece of tinsel left from Grandma R’s tree. And your star is on top–it wouldn’t be Christmas without your star. It’s a little worse for wear; I guess that happens when the same star has been used for 30+ years. And it’s a live tree this year, so we’re watering it dutifully and watching to make sure none of the critters pees on it. So far, so good.
We’ve got a big pile of presents to set out, too, just as soon as we get them all wrapped. I know how you loved a big pile of presents. I think you’ll like the one we picked out for Mom; it seems like the sort of thing you would’ve gotten her if you were still here. And I sent her out with some cash on your anniversary to get new clothes, just like you always did. I even put on a Daddy voice when I told her to go shopping. Hope you got a kick out of that.
I haven’t sorted out who’ll make the salmon salad yet this year, but I promise it’ll be on the table. For that matter, we haven’t really sorted out what we’re doing for food at all this year; maybe we’ll go with a finger-food plan like last year, so nobody has to spend all day in the kitchen. That was a really good plan on your part.
I’ve found a whole bunch of presents I would’ve gotten for you this year, too: there was an I Dream of Jeannie complete box set at Costco, and a couple pairs of pajama pants, and an Eeyore with a Santa hat. I’m also thinking about getting new little Christmas monkeys for Bean and Little Dude, and saying they’re from you. I hope that’s ok.
I’ve gotta tell you, though, I’m having some trouble really getting into the Christmas spirit this year, and while I absolutely love you, I’m pinning this pretty much entirely on you. We all knew this day would come sooner or later, but you’re never actually prepared for the first Christmas without your Dad (or Grandpa, or husband). I love you, I miss you, but screw you forever for this. We’ll do all the Christmas things because life goes on and Christmas still happens, but it’s going to be seriously weird not having you in your recliner. Wherever you are, I hope you have one helluva good time, because the rest of us are just going to be muddling through thanks to you.
You’re right–I’m angry at you. Officially, really, totally angry. And sad. And lonely sometimes, and I get periodic cases of Poor-Me-itis. I understand that bodies just stop working, and that yours had taken more than is really reasonable for anyone, but maybe you’d like to come down here and explain how the hell we’re supposed to do Christmas without Superman at the helm.
Actually, scrap that. If you’re coming down here, I want a hug. Just one more big Daddy hug. It’s all I want for Christmas this year, and I can’t have it. And I hate that.
Love you forever anyway. Merry Christmas, Daddy. I’ll have an extra helping of salmon salad for you.
All my love,