When I was thinking about what I wanted to share tonight, one of the first things I reflected on was the phrase “The Longest Night”. I wondered “Hey, why is it called the Longest Night service anyways?”. I was expecting something deep and profound about grief. Turns out, it’s because it’s held on the longest night of the year.
The night my dad passed away was not on the night of the Winter Solstice, but the day and weeks leading up his death certainly felt like the longest nights. It was February 2018. He had been in hospice for a few months. Having a loved one in hospice is a unique experience. We woke up every day wondering “is he going to pass away today?”. A few days before his passing, my dad was unconscious, and we were no longer able to communicate with him. We knew he would pass soon. But when? On February 10th, I was sleeping upstairs at my parents’ house when I suddenly woke in the middle of the night. My brother had been sitting by my dad’s beside and I told him to go rest, that I would take a turn. I knew immediately that there had been a change. His breathing was more labored. Something told me to wake up my mom. Together, my mom and I witnessed my dad take his last breath. But before that last breath, he reached his hand up to the corner of the room. Keep in mind, he had not moved in days. I am certain he was reaching for someone who was coming to get him. Just like we were waiting and wondering when my dad would pass, someone- (I personally think it was my Uncle Mike) was waiting to take him home.
This will be the sixth Christmas without my dad. And while the first year was the most raw, each year is still hard. We miss his dad jokes and his hugs; we miss the way he took everyone in as if they were his own family member. But mostly we just miss his presence. He was the calming force in our family and could always make any of us feel better. I feel immense sadness that he never got to meet my son, Zackary, and that he won’t see any of his grandchildren grow up.
So how do we cope? I am guessing that many of you came here tonight because you are hurting, and you don’t want to hurt anymore. Grief feels like you are living the longest night of the year repeatedly. I used to think that I had to do something Big and REALLY special to honor my dad on holidays, and that if I didn’t, I wasn’t grieving correctly or doing him justice. There certainly things that can be done- saving an empty seat at the table, writing your loved one a letter. I made my family ornaments with my dad’s handwriting and his signature catch phrase, “you’re the greatest”.
But as time as gone on, I’ve learned it’s not about doing anything for show. I can reflect on past holidays and smile as I remember things about my dad, like the year “Santa” brought me a bunny and my dad, in his most monotone and sarcastic voice, kept saying “I cannot believe Santa brought a bunny”. I can look at pictures and watch videos. I can talk about my dad, and talk about my grief. I can give myself permission to cry or be angry. Those are the ways that I cope. Take time to think about what tools you can use.
This year, I have realized that I can honor my dad by being like him, which was to treat everyone with kindness, to speak out my love and gratitude, and to welcome people in with open arms. Just as someone was there to welcome him into Heaven the night he passed.
I want to close with lyrics from a song by Pentatonix called Light in the Hallway. I heard this song in Target a few weeks after my dad passed away. The lyrics stopped me in my tracks. It felt like my dad was giving me a message. I hope the words bring you comfort, too
If you're scared of the darkness
I will calm your fear
There's a light in the hallway
So you know I'm here
So count your blessings every day
It makes the monsters go away
And everything will be okay
You are not alone
You are right at home
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