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.