Tuesday, November 26, 2013


The holidays are coming. Chanukah is literally tomorrow.

I mean it. It's tomorrow.

Talk about giving me no space whatsoever, right?

It's going to be so rough this year.

My father has always been the driving force behind the holidays. Whether he knew it or not, he was. Is. But isn't. Isn't here anymore to visibly and audibly be a part of it.

Yes. Audibly.

You might not know that my dad had the most beautiful voice.

You've probably never heard him sing the blessings over the candles.

You've surely never seen him stand up at temple and sing words you might not have ever understood but still - you knew - know.

You watched him practice them over and over and over again.

You heard him sing them at the kitchen table. Glasses perched on his face. Red covered book - where is that book - in his weathered hands.

And his voice.

So many times we laughed. "Da, what are you doing? You already KNOW it. How many times are you going to sing it before tomorrow?"

What I wouldn't give to hear him sing again.

To see his eyes twinkle. To hear him over the phone as we lit our own candles. If you know me, you know that's been tradition. Every year. And now. This year. We'll have no voice to urge us on.

We'll have no leader to lead.

It will just be us. With no Daddy to sing with.

I'm not sure how it's going to go. I just know that today stings like a son-of-a-gun. And then some. But I'm trying to be ever-so-slightly proper for the moment.

Ah, screw it. It hurts. It hurts like hell.

There seems to be an unlimited supply of tears. Completely unlimited.

Turn them on and they keep coming until suddenly you realize you're so drained and dry that your lips are chapped and your eyes are puffy and your face is red and dry and cracking and tomorrow is Chanukah and your dad isn't here anymore to enjoy it.

And it sucks.

A lot.

* Linking up this week with Shell for Pour Your Heart Out. 


  1. I feel your pain, losing a family member just plain sucks!

  2. I don't know how to tell you this but for me it got a lot worse before it got better. Last month, I cried every day over my dad - 6 months later. But the beauty of grief is that we only feel what we can handle at the time, which is why it comes in waves. And there's love and great memories wrapped up in that pain. Those are the memories about living a full, big life. Hugs to you my friend.

  3. Oh HUGS. I'm glad you are going, though, to be with your mom, even though I know it will be really, really hard.

  4. I am sending you so much love and so many hugs right now.


    I wish I could do more.


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