Reflections on Dad at Christmas Time

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

 

 

Dad has been gone 11 months now.  And as it's Christmas, his loss stings a bit more than it has for some time.  The sights and sounds remind me so much of him.  There are songs, for example, that I cannot hear without thinking he is just in the other room or within a phone call's reach. There are foods that I expect to evoke some kind of response from him.  And the flood of these sensory reminders makes him feel at once closer and yet more painfully distant.

 

So, while my memory is still relatively clear, let me briefly record here some of my memories of Dad and Christmas:

 

We Went to Get a Christmas Tree

 

My earliest Christmas memory with Dad  is likely when I was 2-3.  I had gone with him and my grandfather to get a Christmas tree.  It's a fuzzy memory, being as far back as it is, but I remember we parked Grandpa's truck in front of a big barn, and then Dad and Grandpa left me in the truck while they went to see about a tree.  Grandpa also happened to leave the keys in the ignition.  This was a new thing for me, and I thought it might be a good idea to turn the ignition and pull down on that lever I'd seen Grandpa pull.  Before I knew it, the truck started and rumbled forward -- helplessly toward that big barn (in my mind, the barn was red, but it could have been white).  I don't know how far away from the truck Dad had gotten, but near to when it looked like the truck would crash into the barn (and possibly go through it), Dad flung open the driver's side door, took control of the truck and brought it to a stop with feet to spare.  I remember nothing about the aftermath of that incident, but I don't think Grandpa ever left me in his vehicle unattended, or at least unattended with the keys in the ignition.

 

 [This may have been the tree that nearly cost Grandpa a truck (and a barn)]

 

Peeking Down the Stairs

When I was 4 or 5, there was a Christmas Eve  I remember peeking down from the top of the stairs at our home in Oswego, NY after I had been sent to bed for the evening. Mom and Dad were busily arranging presents under the Christmas tree, and, I think, listening to Christmas music.  It was quite a scene, and I think I wondered if I might catch a glimpse of Santa Claus if I could just wait it out.   But my surveillance operation didn't last long enough; Mom and Dad spotted me and sent me back to my bedroom.  And for some reason, I don't remember making a second effort.

 

It might have been part the same evening or the next Christmas Eve (it's curious how memories jumble), but I next remember Mom telling me in my room that I had to be absolutely still in my bed or Santa wouldn't come.  I remember looking for Santa out the window on the roof, but after those words from Mom, I froze in place.  Apparently I fell asleep rather quickly, too, because it seemed like only minutes had passed before Mom was back in my room telling me that Santa had come, and did I want to get up and open presents? This would be the last time my parents ever had to wake me on Christmas morning.

 

A Toy Truck for "A Relative"

 

I also remember one year finding my way into my parents' bedroom closest one evening at Christmas time and finding a wonderful Tonka truck.  I played with that truck there in my parents' bedroom until Mom came in to put a stop to things.  She then told me that truck was a Christmas present for "a relative", before putting it away and sending me off to bed.  I don't remember thinking anything more about that truck until I opened it up on Christmas morning.  At the time, I thought it was amazing that I had gotten the same truck that Mom was giving to our "relative."

 

Sitting in Front of the Fire

 

I have an image of Dad sitting in the living room some evenings, listening to Christmas music on the stereo, with all the lights off in the room except for those glowing from the Christmas tree.

 

[The Clarks (and Grandma Feickert) singing Christmas Carols, circa 1984]

 

 

All I Wanted Was a VCR For Christmas

 

It's been noted elsewhere, but I learned from Dad the hard way that Santa's existence was a little more complicated than I'd initially been lead to believe.  I think I might have been 11 when I'd schemed a way to get what I really wanted for Christmas -- a VCR. I decided to write Santa a polite but threatening letter that went something like this:

 

Dear Santa,

I would really like a VCR for Christmas.  If you don't get me one, I won't believe in you anymore. 

Sincerely,

Aaron 

 

That evening, Dad called me into the kitchen, where he sat at one end of the table with my opened letter in hand.  I was furious -- he had opened a letter meant for Santa Claus!  He then rather abruptly told me, "Aaron, there is no Santa Claus.  We are not getting a VCR [times were tough in the Clark home in those years].  And don't say a word of this to your brothers and sisters."  Given how earth shattering those revelations were, it surprises me that I don't remember harboring any ill will or suffering any significant trauma.

 

[circa 1988] 

 

Looking back now, it's ironic that the same man who crushed my dreams and couldn't afford a VCR would become known for extending himself so to get his kids all the presents and more on their Christmas list.

 

Nintendo Trauma

 

 

Of course, there was also the year Mom and Dad canceled Christmas (i.e., had Grandma take back the Nintendo that she'd apparently bought for us) after Nathan and I were caught sneaking into the Christmas fudge.  They swore in recent years that there was more to it than just the fudge debacle, but they've never been able to point to what, exactly, it was.  And Nathan and I can't remember being anything other than typical young boys -- heartbroken little boys.

Now that I'm a parent myself, I strongly suspect that Mom didn't really want me to have that Nintendo anyway.  But as she probably won't ever own to it, we'll likely have to wait until the next life to sort this one out.

 

 

The Degenshein International Cookie Party

 

Still in Ilion, I remember fondly Sunday afternoon drives each Christmas season (in that grey and red behemoth of a van of ours) to Frankfort, NY for Joyce Degenshein's International Cookie Party.  Joyce was a member of our church congregation, and would make a dozen or more different kinds of Christmas cookies to taste as we mingled with others and sipped hot chocolate or hot cider.  My favorites were always the Spritz cookies with their white frosting and sprinkles sandwiched between two butter cookies.  Joyce always had an enormous tree that seemed like it filled half her living room, and Dad was always sure to point out (loud enough for all in the apartment to hear it) the placement of her NY Mets ornament on that huge tree.

 

[circa 1989 -- I think I spy a VCR in the background!]

 

An Announcement  

 

One year, when I was 15, my parents announced during our Christmas Eve program (wherein we would sing songs and revisit some of the scriptures related to the Savior's birth) that Mom was pregnant with my youngest brother.  Grandma and Grandpa were there.  That night is one of my most cherished memories, and I remember a feeling of sacredness and reverence about the whole experience. 

 

Years later, it became something of a tradition for the kids to announce pregnancies on Christmas evening (if the secret could be kept until then).

 

Gifts and More Gifts

 

There was a Christmas Eve a year or two later when, having sent the rest of the kids to bed and filled the stockings, Dad took Nathan (my closest sibling in age) and I for a late night drive to his office, which was 20 miles or so away.  There he had us load the van with a cache of presents that he'd been hiding, perhaps even from my mother. 

 

From that point on, he seemed to become only more obsessed with squirreling away Christmas gifts for people starting very early in the year.  In fact, it became a running joke that Dad would start asking for Christmas Lists in July or August. 

 

Here's a sample of one such email from August 26, 2014:

 

Seeing Hobby Lobby is already advertising their Christmas deals, and Smith's has all of their Halloween Candy out for the season, it's probably time to get general Christmas wish lists for the season.  It helps to have a head's up.

Dad

 

And if we hadn't sent him that list by September, he started to get really anxious.  Another part of an email from September 20, 2014:  

 

Got Christmas wish list from Sarah this past week and something from Alisha, but I would appreciate hearing from others of you as well.

ALC

 

 [This bowling ball is now the stuff of legend in the Clark home, circa 2007]

 

Always Checking In

 

As the years passed and Dad became "Grandpa," we found ourselves routinely making the Christmas drive to Layton, UT from Southern California to spend the holidays there.  Dad's excitement manifest itself in many ways, including repeated telephone calls while we were en route.  He would check up on our progress, and always advise us to "drive safe."  An hour or two later, he'd call again.  I can't help but think of those calls now without smiling.

 

Last to Bed and First Up

 

Even in recent years, Dad always seemed to be one of the last ones to bed on Christmas Eve, and one of the first ones up on Christmas morning.  I can still see him tiptoeing around the house with excitement while having on the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol in the background (for Dad, that is the definitive movie version).

 [2014]

A Christmas Eve Testimony

This was from last Christmas Eve.  Most of us were huddled around the piano in the living room.  We knew Dad was sick then.  He'd been sick for a few years, but it wasn't until a week or so before last Christmas that anyone had been able to diagnose what had been happening to him.  At the time, he'd been told he may have another 18 months, but there were some treatment options that gave us hope it might be even longer.  Dad seemed at peace and as anxious as he had ever been to celebrate Christmas.

 

 

We had little notion at the time he shared this that he would only be with us a few weeks more.  Even if we had known, though, I'm not sure I would've done anything different in how I spent that last Christmas with him.

 

A Savior is Born

 

I do believe I will see Dad again.  In fact, I'd say I know it.  That it could be otherwise doesn't even seem possible.  But it still feels like such a long way away, and that distance makes me sad.

 

I believe that Jesus Christ made possible that eventual reunion and so much more.  He really is my Savior.  And there really is cause for celebration this season.  Dad knew that.  That has a lot to do with why he loved Christmas so much.  And that's part of why I feel a particular ache for his company right now.

 

This year, it has seemed remarkable to me that as often as Christmas season comes, there always seems to be a feeling of renewal in remembering Jesus Christ.  Those sacred hymns we sing year after year continue to evoke feelings of reverence and awe.  But this year, that reverence and awe mix with poignant feelings of celebration and loss.  At least for now, I hope that never changes.

 

Merry Christmas!