Another year without Dad

 Today marks another year without my Dad. Nine years since he passed, and yet some memories still feel so vivid, like they’re wrapped in their own kind of light.

I keep thinking about the last time he was home before palliative care. Just the two of us in the living room, watching Practical Magic, Hocus Pocus, and One Magic Christmas. Those were “our” movies. I can still hear him laugh at the same parts he always did. I drifted off a couple of times — I was running around back then, taking him to treatments, helping with groceries and laundry, cooking dinners, juggling work. But even when I fell asleep, just being next to him felt comforting in a way I didn’t fully appreciate until later.
I lost my Mom a few years after him, and I did the same for her — the errands, the meals, the appointments, the long quiet moments. Being there for both of them was hard, but it was a gift too. I’m grateful I could show them the love they gave me my whole life.
They both adored Christmas — the lights, the music, the old holiday movies, the little traditions that made everything feel warm. It breaks my heart that neither of them made it to their last Christmas. But the season still feels like theirs. Every sparkle, every song, every memory feels touched by them.
I miss them deeply. I miss the way home felt when they were in it. But I also hold onto the warmth of the memories we made — the laughter, the chaos, the comfort, the love that hasn’t gone anywhere. It just lives differently now.
I carry them with me into every Christmas, every December, every quiet night. And I like to think they’re together somewhere, watching over me… maybe even watching those same movies.

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