‘Tis the season

Twenty years ago, my wonderful mother was rushed to the hospital after suffering a stroke which resulted from the terminal pancreatic cancer she was diagnosed with three months prior. She never came home. She died January 2005.  

Holidays are harder now. The Chanukah lights and dreidel spinning, the special foods, the family visits, the gift giving – are all bittersweet. So many friends and family are succumbing to old age and sickness. Funerals and doctor visits are my new hobbies.  Mom loved this time, but then again, she treasured all the times. She liked baking and cooking, waiting for the California clan to come over, the Vermonters to drive down and coming to Riverdale.  

Wasn’t it just Thanksgiving? Isn’t Hannukah over? New Year’s Eve came and went. And so, it goes.

Every day, every minute, I think of mom and dad and miss them. I miss most, being part of their lives and them, a part of mine. I miss having a past to share and being unconditionally loved. I still miss hearing, “hello dear” on the phone, getting a hug each time I walked in her door, her advice, her comments, her adoring smile and sparking eyes. I miss her knitting, her chocolate cake and her stuffed cabbage, which I make, but not like she did. I miss what she never lived to kvell over, my granddaughter, Maccabee, who looks just like her daddy, and Benjamin with his gorgeous hair and curiosity, who looks like himself. There are also other growing great-grandchildren and step-great-grandchildren. There is always something to miss; I know that.  

It’s not fair!  There I go again, “not fair” --  that kindergarten word!  

I so miss Dad who died at 98. I miss running to his apartment to find the remote or the phone and to lower the television. I miss hearing about his life.  I miss having him hem things or sew up a hole in something. He was a tailor for 50 years, but he was my dad for more.

My sisters and I miss being called baby, something my mom was called until her own mother died. There is no one I will call baby. We miss being called “doll,” dad’s word for everyone he cared about. And the list was long. 

On New Year’s Eve, I will miss most calling them at exactly midnight, no matter where I am or what I am doing. I will miss asking them how many times we had said this. Remember banging on pots with spoons at our window when I was little? Remember all the hugs and kisses welcoming the New Year?” That was the best gift of “tis the season,” but now it is the memory of it and thanks to them for that will just have to suffice. 

Merry everything. Happy New Year. May it be better than ever for the whole world.