Uncovering the Real Gifts of the Holiday Season

When she heard me complain about my busy workload, bottomless laundry basket, or some milestone one of my special needs children had yet to reach, my mother would often tell me, "Gina, you need to stop and smell the roses." I never understood what she meant until several Christmases ago when my uncle, my father's little brother, was in the hospital fighting for his life. It seemed almost surreal that a man so full of life was teetering on the edge of death; that the fun-loving person who was such a happy part of my childhood might not be a part of my future.

Sadly, despite an incredible fight, Uncle Joe lost his battle. But in sickness and death, my uncle helped me finally understand what my mother had wanted me to do - to stop and smell the roses. Somehow my uncle had taught me to to stop counting things on my "To Do" list and to start counting my blessings.

My uncle helped me see what a strong extended family I've been so fortunate to be a part of as I watched aunts, uncles, and cousins gather around him and express their love.
But most of all, my uncle helped me stop and look at my parents, and in particular,my father, who resembled him so closely. I stopped and thought about the positive impact my father had on my life, and wondered what my life would have been like without him.

It was my father who guided my career and encouraged me to be a writer. "Gina, you love to write. Maybe you should become a writer so that you can work from home and be there for your kids." He couldn't have found a better profession for me. Despite some of the headaches working at home has brought me over the years ("OK, who put bubblegum in my fax machine?"), I've been able to be there for my children and carve out a lucrative and rewarding profession. This would not have been possible without my father's guidance and knowledge about my strengths and abilities.

Just a few days before that Christmas, while my uncle was in the hospital on life support, my mother informed that my father was too brokenhearted over his little brother to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with us, a tradition we had started years earlier when my daughter Katie was born. With a heavy heart, I told my children that we would have to celebrate the holiday without my parents. As expected, they were extremely disappointed.

But then on Christmas Eve, my father gave me a tremendous gift. He told me that he had read a Dear Abby column about how Christmas was a time for family and not a time to be alone. He said that he and my mother were going to spend the holiday with us and sleep over. "Dad," I said. "You don't have to. I know how sad you are." But he insisted and we gave them a key to our house and made plans to meet them on Christmas Eve after we had visited with my husband's family.

On the drive to my house, my stomach was in knots; not knowing if my uncle was still with us or what state I would find my father in. When we arrived, I raced inside my house, and found my mother resting on the couch. I looked around for my father, but didn't see him. I started to panic. Was he crying upstairs? Was he back at the hospital? My mother, seeing my concern, pointed behind the couch, where my father was crouched down on all fours waiting for my daughters. When they came into the room, he jumped out at them and yelled "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!" and then scooped them up in an enormous bear hug. His eyes were bloodshot and looked older than I had ever remembered, but I saw so much love in them.

In that moment, I thought I could never love my father more.

But then Thanksgiving 2011 came up on us. It would be our first holiday without our mother, the love of his life for 53 years, who passed away unexpectedly in August. My siblings and I and our families planned to gather at my house, as we usually did.

On Thanksgiving morning, I went for a ride to the cemetery. I stopped to purchase a rose and placed it on my Mom's grave. I couldn't help but break down and sob as I thought about the prospect of spending the holiday without her, the centerpiece of our lives. I couldn't imagine the grief my father must have been feeling, though he assured us he would join us.

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When I arrived home, I began to set the table as she would have done. When my daughter announced my father had arrived, I looked out the window. I wanted to sob when I saw the empty passenger seat, where her perfectly coifed head could always be seen.

The grief of that hit me instantly.

I went out to greet my father who was holding a pot in his hands.

"Hi Dad. Happy Thanksgiving!" I said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm terrific," he said with a smile, though I could see sadness in his eyes.

"What's in the pot?" I asked.

"I thought we'd have some Italian wedding soup. I called my sister and got the recipe and made it myself. I don't know how good it is, but I figured I'd try it."

At that moment, I knew we were going to be OK.

He sat down on the couch, had a drink with us, and joked with my daughters. They gave him copies of their school pictures and he told them how beautiful they were. When my brother and sister and their families arrived, we all gathered around the table. We wanted everything to be perfect, the way our mother used to have Thanksgiving, but we knew that the important thing was for us to be together.

The food was delicious. And our father's soup was perfect. I could see the pride in his eyes. After dinner, I looked around and saw that everyone was still gathered around my father, including the children who would normally be off on their own. It was as if we were all surrounding him with our love. We told stories about our mother and toasted how thankful we were to have had in her in our lives for so long.

At the end of the evening, my father announced he was ready to go home. At once, reality came rushing in; he was going home alone. We asked him to stay over or if we could spend the night at his house. He told us, he wanted to be alone. My husband walked him out to the car, hugged him and asked him to call us when he got home. Within 20 minutes, I answered the call. "Hey Stranger. It's Dad. I'm home safe. I just wanted to tell you that I had a wonderful day. I didn't want to tell you, but I was dreading the day. I was afraid I would break down and ruin everyone's Thanksgiving, but I'm so glad I came. Thank you and your wonderful husband for making me feel so at home. I love you."

When I went back into my kitchen to finish the dishes, I spotted a silk rose my mother and daughter had bought me one day. It was in the corner of the kitchen, and I hardly ever noticed it. But when I saw it this Thanksgiving Day, I knew it was a sign from my mother reminding me to count my blessings. I may not have had her, but I still had this generous, proud and loving man she chose to spend her life with - by far the best testament to the kind of person she was.

That day, I finally learned what Thanksgiving was all about. And just how blessed I really was.