Five Christmases

It seems like a lifetime.

Photo by Olena Sergienko on Unsplash

This is the fifth Christmas without you. I had to count twice to make sure because it doesn’t seem real or possible.

But I know it, and I feel it.

I feel it when I hear a Johnny Mathis or Barbra Streisand Christmas song on the radio because those two were your favorites and on constant repeat in the house.

I feel it when I pick up the phone to call you to ask how much almond extract to use in your favorite cookie recipe (because you always added a little extra) — and realize that I can’t.

I feel it when I look at my son and marvel how he’s grown from 14 to 18 — and realize you’ve missed it all.

There have been a lot of changes since you passed, and there are more to come. And part of me is devastated that you don’t know any of it and that you can’t help me, encourage me, commiserate with me, or console me.

I miss that so much.

I miss you so much.

I don’t think about you every day like I used to. Part of me is glad about that, and part of me is sad about that. Part of me feels guilty for not thinking about you every day — like it’s disrespectful in some way.

I know you’d tell me not to worry about that and go out and live my life. And knowing…