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Remembering My Dad at Christmas


As I write this, tears begin to slowly form up in the corners of my eyes. Realizing that this will be the fourth Christmas without my dad here, I wonder if I’m doing everything I possibly can to make him proud or if there’s something I’m forgetting. I try to be someone my dad would be proud of, someone who looks at others’ needs before my own.

It is quiet now. I can only hear the sound of my fingers tapping keys on the keyboard. Tomorrow, when I get off work for my lunch break, I’ll be greeted by a huge Christmas tree and serenaded by Christmas music. I always have to try my hardest not to cry then, especially at night when the lights are so beautiful. In my mind, I know he’s gone. Yet, in my heart, I know he’s still there, and he always will be.

It might sound strange, but I still talk with him. I’ll talk with him about girls, heartbreak and anything else on my mind. It’s funny how you think after someone is gone it’ll be the big memories you’ll miss the most, the grand vacations or adventures. I’ve found it’s quite the opposite. I miss the idiosyncrasies that made my dad, my dad. I miss his voice and the way he always used to call me Superman. I miss the sparkle in his eye when he talked about something he was passionate about and the way he never could stay mad at anyone.

For those reasons and millions more, Christmas will never be the same. Yet, Christmas must still go on, and I must still live my life. What a shame it is that people are so focused on material things and presents at Christmastime, instead of family.

Take it from me, stuff fades and gets old. Family though? They are always with you, wherever you go. As for my dad? Well, I have a special place in my heart for him.

Merry Christmas, Dad.

I love you,
Brooks

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