Four years ago today I had never heard of Covid. We started to hear of the Corona virus someplace else but not in the United States. It was a joke, a virus named after a beer.

In two months from today you would be entering the hospital with Covid 19 and you never came home. How naive I was then.

When the Christmas candy goes on clearance, and I start to see all the Valentine candy overflowing from the shelves at Stop & Shop, I can only think of my friend, M, who I worked with for over twenty years.

As soon as Christmas was over, M would load a big bowl on the reception desk with candy hearts, the pastel kind, that used to be made by Necco. She’d scoop her hand (long ass nails and all) into that bowl and toss (yes, literally throw) the candy hearts at us or to us as we walked by on our way to our cubicles.

I can see her now: “UR SWEET, HUG ME, #1FAN, PEN PAL, THAT SMILE, THAT SMILE”. Sometimes, she’d read us the heart’s message as she chucked them toward us.

I miss her. When she died in the hospital after 6 days on a vent, part of me died too.

My brothers and I would wake up around 3 or 4 on Christmas morning to see what Santa had left. Dad and Mom would appear shortly after. As I look back, I can see Dad sitting on the sofa, his thinning hair disheveled from a short night of sleep. His eyes tired, a cup of coffee in his hands wearing his robe. Around us were the surprises carefully placed encircling the tree. I loved December then. The anticipation, the joy and the closeness of family. I loved lying under the tree watching the lights sparkle off the glass bulbs. Everything was as it was supposed to be then.

The 21st of December in 1997 was different. My husband and I were spending the evening with our three kids. We had brought in the tree and had the boxes of decorations spread out all over the floor. The Christmas lights were already on the tree and little hands were searching through the boxes for the right ornament to hang. I was enjoying the moment, when an overwhelming urge to go to my parents’ house came over me. There was no reason for it, but I had to go. I immediately left an unhappy husband and confused kids in the middle of a mess. When I arrived at my parents’, Dad was sitting at the end of the sofa. He looked uncomfortable and Mom’s face said something was wrong. Dad was quiet and fidgety. Then he was up pacing through the house with Mom suggesting we take him to the hospital. The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever, even though Mom was driving way too fast. I parked the car while she hurried him in. Dad was having a heart attack. The next couple of days were a blur. Doctors had placed stents in and saved him. I walked that hospital finding the Christmas display with the trains. Watching the choo-choo go, while my head was in chaos. Eventually, I found myself in the chapel pleading for my dad to be okay. I was overwhelmed with fear and despair at the thought of losing my father. Sitting in that softly lit chapel alone, with the candles flickering on the walls a peace came over me and a voice in my mind was telling me he was going to be okay. It was the first time I faced the real possibility of losing my father.

Christmas day 2010 would bring that fear to the surface again. After a day filled with family, food and gifts for the kids it was time to head home. Dad and mom had something to tell me first. I sat down at the kitchen table fully expecting to have them tell me they were going to take a trip. Instead, I was told that my dad had cancer. They had waited to tell me until the end of the day so my Christmas wouldn’t be ruined. I felt as the rug had been pulled out from under me. That overwhelming despair appeared again. Fortunately, Dad had surgery and the cancer was removed.

Right before Christmas 2020 my husband had developed a headache that lasted for a couple of days. We were cautious because of the pandemic and were wearing masks everywhere. As a precaution I wore a mask at home too and slept in a separate room just to be safe. On Christmas eve he called me at work upset. He had tested positive for Covid, and the doctor said for me to leave work immediately and quarantine. My husband was given the antibody treatment. and he developed a high fever. I was washing and disinfecting everything giving him the run of the house to try to keep him comfortable. Christmas Day we were told my dad who was in a healthcare facility due to dementia, had tested positive for covid too. Two separate exposures. My husband was able to recover but the virus hit my dad harder.

Mom made daily calls, but he was deteriorating. He was having trouble breathing, coughing and fever. All the worst of the symptoms. Dad never wanted to be kept alive by machines. So, the decision was made to make him as comfortable as possible. We hoped he would be okay, but his age was working against him. On the 4th of January Mom asked if I could call and check on dad for her. She just didn’t feel up to it. I was in quarantine. I didn’t want to make that call. I delayed making it until i felt i had to. After the phone rang and rang, a man answered. I told him i was calling to check on Alan Trobe to see how he was doing. There was this long silence on the other end and the voice sounded rattled. The reply was finally, ” umm, not very well. He just passed away.”

Unless you have experienced that grief, under similar circumstances, I can’t explain it to you. Every part of your being feels like the life has been drained from you. I was the one who had to tell my mother that the love of her life had died. I had to call and tell my brother that our father was gone. We could not have a funeral for dad, we would not risk putting any others through the devastation we were experiencing. When the immediate family went to the funeral home to say goodbye, I couldn’t go. I was positive for covid from being exposed to my husband and in quarantine. I would not take a chance on exposing my mom, even though she said for me to come anyway, I couldn’t risk losing both of them. I wasn’t able to say goodbye to my Daddy one last time.

December tried to take my dad away three times, but it took January to do it.

Christmas Eve was our favorite part of the holiday. The busyness was pretty much over and it was our time. Decorations were up, gifts were purchased and wrapped and the Christmas morning chaos when our children woke up was still hours away. We savored this peaceful last part of the day. We did the same thing almost every year. After our children were tucked in bed, Mike and I would each open one of our gifts. We would watch “A Christmas Carol” and I would sip my Amaretto cocktail while he sipped his Grand Marnier with the soft glow of the lights from our tree filling the room. Life, at that moment, was as perfect as it could possibly ever be.

It’s here again. Christmas Eve. The fourth one without you. They say it gets easier over time. They don’t know what they’re talking about. All those special holiday celebrations and rituals are no fun without you.

The tree is up. It’s covered with all the ornaments we collected during our travels together. Each one brings a smile, remembering a good time in a new place away from home. There are also cat and dog ornaments to honor the pets that gave us so much joy. The newest one is the one I had made to honor you. It hangs in the middle of the tree, at eye level, so everyone can see your name and remember the happiness you brought them.

I just finished baking one last batch of Christmas cookies — the first time since the pandemic started. They’re the ones you liked the best. The healthy ones loaded with butter and sugar. Don’t chuckle. It’s true. I felt your presence in the kitchen as I worked, just like past times. I guess that’s why they came out perfectly. If only you could taste them to make sure.

All the gifts are packed and ready to go. I’ll head to Massachusetts in the morning. Everyone will remember you and all the Christmases we shared together. I hope you’ll be there too.

You’ll know the Christmas song The Carpenters released back in the 70s, “Merry Christmas Darling.” Tonight, I’ll look at your picture and sing it to you. Most likely tears will be rolling down my cheeks. It’s the only gift I can give you now.

I wish you Merry Christmas
Happy New Year too
I’ve just one wish on this Christmas Eve
I wish I were with you
I wish I were with you.