Merry Ho Ho Ho

The Christmas tree isn’t decorated this year, a first since your death, as I have two kittens in the house that would have loved to destroy every ornament and every decoration. They remind me of you—one minute sweet and cuddly, and the next, little demons stirring up some kind of trouble—and then charming their way out of their mess with kitten purrs, in stereo. Of course, you didn’t purr; you smiled and laughed and hugged and joked. You charmed and captivated.

Even without a decorated tree, the holidays descend as surely as the snow that has covered the ground, the deck, the roofs and the roads. With every shovelful, I think of you, and remember that eventually, you would grab shovel or roof rake and help clear snow. I remember you helping neighbors out of ditches, and I remember you did it with a smile on your face.

If you had lived, you would be 25ish, and you wouldn’t be living at home, but I like to pretend that you live close by, and you drop in and grab a shovel or rake and the snow disappears in your path like magic. You’d have a child, my grandson or granddaughter, and they call me granny, and they dance to my music and sit in my lap.

Instead, I have two kittens and a sore shoulder and no Christmas tree. I have tears that fall as fast as the snow outside my windows, and a heart that will never be quite whole. I have learned that I can survive without you, and my life is graced with music, friends, family, kittens, snow, and love. And that everything I have to say grace over today is a result of surviving your death, and one kitten pounce at a time, learning to live without you.

At first, I thought there had to be a grand scheme, as I searched for meaning in your passing. I have come to accept that you died in a car accident, that alcohol and gravity killed you, and that ultimately, it was an accident that scratched you out of my life. But I have also come to believe that I can honor your life, and find some solace in random acts of kindness and courage, and this has made me a better person. And that just makes me love, and miss, you more.

Merry Christmas, Niko. I miss you everyday.