I've spent the last few weeks blogging random holiday memories. Each of them sort of a tribute to why this holiday means a great deal to me. I think though, that this particular holiday memory is the most significant.
It will be sixteen years ago today that my Grandfather passed away. It was an unexpected loss in my family and was very difficult for everyone. It was especially tough that it happened so close to Christmas. My Grandfather was a deacon in the Anglican Church, and Christmas was his favourite time of year. My mother often tells me stories about how much he loved the holidays, and there is now a Christmas stained glass window at the church in his memory. My last memory of him is having him come to see me in a Christmas pagent playing Santa Clause.
I was only six years old at the time, with no real concept of death or loss. I can't even imagine how difficult it was for my family. I say that because I had no idea how difficult it was for my family. They worked so hard at being strong through out the holiday for me that I have no bad memories of that Christmas whatsoever. My parents and Grandma and Aunts worked so hard at still making Christmas a happy time of year for me then, that I don't associate the holiday with sadness or pain. I do have some sad memories about the funeral and visitation and other stuff, but I mostly remember that Christmas still came.
Some how or other it came just the same.