The roads that lead us home
and how we can heal this holiday season
I’m going to be real for a minute. This holiday season is a tough one for me.
It’s the first since my dad passed away in September.
As the months roll on and one holiday tumbles after another, I’m caught in the contradiction of grief and the sometimes overwhelming vacillation between joy and pain.
We recently got back from a road trip North to see family.
It’s strange now going home when the person who made it home is no longer there.
As my husband drove, I spent some time writing. Here is a peek into what’s scribbled in my notes app:
The further north we drive, the land smooths, the horizon stretching so far. My husband says: you can see the next town and the next and the next.
I wonder at the death of my father, if we’d have known, if we could have seen into the future like the open sky of the Midwest lets us see into the tomorrow of the neighboring towns: would we have done anything differently?
How many nos would we have turned yes? How many quiet weekends would we have flown back? How many moments of resentment turned towards soft forgiveness?
If I close my eyes I can smell the sheets on the line, hear the sound of
milk pouring into tall glasses and the hum of the dishwasher squeak still.
I can feel what it’s like to have you sitting right here like I feel now. I can see the shuffle of old age, the kind that sneaks up on you suddenly and then all of a sudden, we are old men and women and folks.
If I focus on the hollowness of grief, I think about what it looks like when a chest is carved out. Sunken under a button-up shirt.Space.
There is space now where your heart was.
And I think about an article I read about someone who lost their dad, too, how after they died they felt so close. Like you are now. Everywhere.
I feel this everywhere when I focus my mind. And sometimes I do feel your presence as if you delight in the happenings of earth. Delight in me again.
When we sit around strumming guitars, I feel your joy, too, at our remembrance of you. Your love of music now a mist that envelops us.
I look up and an eagle flies over overhead, tracing the old path that leads us home, as John Denver sings about country roads.
The holidays can be tough whether we are in recovery from addiction or not. If you’ve missed it, check out my latest free download and resource to help you thrive this holiday season: Your Sober Holiday Survival Guide.
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With hope,
Caroline Beidler, MSW
A Personal Request and P.S.
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This is beautiful, Caroline. And raw and I feel it. I lost my dad in 2020 and the holiday season has never been the same. Sending you strength and love as you navigate the "newness" of this season.
These words resonate with me: "I feel this everywhere when I focus my mind. And sometimes I do feel your presence as if you delight in the happenings of earth. Delight in me again."
Strangely, in a way, I feel closer to my dad now than when he was still with us. This sometimes makes me feel guilty, like I took him for granted perhaps, but mostly, I let it comfort me - knowing he is here, like you say, delighting in me, still.