remembering Christmas

Growing up, we had a tradition. It wasn’t much, but was enough to make an impact on the way I viewed the world. My father would take me to a local nursery anywhere from December 21-24. He loved donating to charity, and the more I think about his kind heart, quickly do I recognize how much of that heart shaped mine as a social worker. Whether I was 3 or 15, I would be excited to wake up around 5A and head down to the nursery. His favorite (sadly, I do admit Republican) radio station would do a live broadcast while they collected money and toys for families in need. My favorite (not sadly- with childlike excitement) was the breakfast and hot chocolate that would follow before (and after). My dad always tried to get me to say hello on the radio station, and his exhaustive efforts (or bribes) were never enough to convince me. I shared many memories during these moments with my father, small but significant. Whether it was running around the well decorated Christmas trees and gifts going to pick up a new ornament for my mom, or a new animal for our nativity scene—I would always wake up for this. Always.
The moments changed as I got older, from laughing and joking to quieter mornings. One morning inside of a Denny’s, I told him, over my buttermilk pancakes with extra syrup, that I was in contact with his brother that lived in Australia. Or another time, that I know happened but can’t recall clearly- I sat in the car, high.

I am 30 now. It’s December 23 and I am not going to the nursery. I’m not going to see my father this Christmas, except for the moments he shows me synchronicities from the universe that his presence will always be. I see him in the Christmas lights, in the signs for Toys for Tots, in the numbers on the license plates that I cling so desperately to, searching for reprieve. This time during the holidays is quiet. I sit and reflect on the memories that I shared not only at the nursery but all days leading up to Christmas. I can’t help but acknlowedge in the moments that he was extending the hand of donation to a charity, he also was providing an example of offering to me.