Your granddaughter wanted to bake pies for Thanksgiving. She’s become a beauty. You would be so proud of her. She came for the day and we made three pies. Cherry, oatmeal, and of course, Pumpkin. Oatmeal pie was one of your favorites. It’s her favorite now too, and she asks for it every time we get together as a family. So does your youngest daughter. Who would have guessed that the “left-over-pie-crust-pie” would become the family’s chosen.
You loved a good pie. I miss your whispered compliments and kiss on my cheek after you devoured the first piece.
I wasn’t really ready to decorate for Christmas, but she wanted to pull out my tree while the pies baked. This was the first time the two of us had decorated the tree by ourselves. It was fun. She admired and was curious about every ornament. I told her about the cactus Christmas tree — San Antonio. The sand snowman — Cabo San Lucas. The glass ornament moose — Gatlinburg. The Precious Moment globe — our first Christmas together. There were about a dozen more… We laughed a lot. And cried a bit. It was a good day. None of us run from the tears anymore. They just come and go. And come again.
I made your favorite cookies this week. You know, those frozen ones, that for some reason, have become “Christmas” cookies. Oatmeal Crispies. The ones your gramma use to make. You always told the grandkids “you won’t like them” because you wanted them all to yourself. Somehow they have become a family favorite now. Everyone wants the Oatmeal Crispies. It makes us sad and happy to see them on the Christmas cookie plate. We talk about you every time we eat them.
I shopped for your grandsons this week. The two oldest! Those boys! Young men, actually. They are both taller than me now. One is probably taller than you. Yes, you. I can just imagine the conversations the two of you would be having about that. One of you would be amused. The other not so much.
I actually went to a brick-and-mortar store because my usual online shopping for these tweens wasn’t panning out. My first stop was a new store, a sports fan store. Oh, this store. It would be so easy to buy your Christmas gifts there. You were always so hard to buy for. “I don’t need anything.” For the first 15 minutes, as I was walking the aisles, I kept picking out gifts you’d like. I got choked up and had to wipe away some tears. You would love this store. I came here to shop for your oldest grandson… he’s so much like you. He has become a sports fan and he watches all your team’s basketball games. You would love that. I can see the two of you watching a game and yelling at the TV together. I bought him the same gifts I picked out for you. He’ll love them too.
I shopped for the other grandson at the mall. I haven’t been to the mall in years, but this young man isn’t fully into the sports teams yet, and I also wanted his gifts to be different than his big brother. So to Macys I went in search of “Levi” attire. The music. The sounds. The smells. The ambiance of the store ambushed me. So many Christmas shopping hours spent in that men’s department. You were in every aisle. The shirts. The socks. The sweats. I wasn’t expecting to see you there. I cried a little. But it was good to think of you while I shopped for him.
Our third Christmas without you. You are so missed. Yet you are still here. Everywhere. In the house. In your grandkids. Even in the Christmas decor. Not a day goes by that we don’t think about the void you left. It’s tangible and vacant at the same time. You were a good man, Charlie Brown. I know I told you that often… not sure why I called you Charlie Brown. That famous line just fit. Makes me laugh now. But yes, such a good man.
We love you. Merry Christmas Charlie Brown.
9 thoughts on “Merry Christmas Charlie Brown”
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing what God has gifted you to do with the world. It’s so easy to shrink inward in our pain and grief. I think of my mom so often, but more during the holidays. I love you, Mrs. G.
Hey Melody, I miss your Mom too. I think of her so often. She was a good woman. Such a good woman. And I know, even though she’s been gone for many years, the pain you still carry gets heavier during the holidays. I love you too.
I don’t know if it gets any easier, or when it does. It just seems that we learn to ‘cope’ better. Sometimes it seems overwhelming, as every sight, smell, sound, etc. is a reminder. It’s going on 26 years since my daddy passed, yet, I find myself still bursting into tears when I smell certain aftershave or see Christmas candy, eat tomato soup and grilled cheese.
This year…I try not to think about Christmas without my sweet granddaughter. I still have trouble remembering she isn’t here…still haven’t really accepted the fact. I have yet to look at past Christmas pictures…I just can’t, not yet. Maybe I should or maybe that would somehow make it seem real, that she will never again be in pictures.
Thank you for your words and your honesty and openness. I love that about you. Mostly, thank you for your friendship.
I’m so sorry your all your loss, Debbie. Thank you taking the time to write out your sadness here. I’m thankful for your friendship as well.
Oh, Connie. Beautiful, poignant and inspiring. You model how to love and honor those we’ve lost. Bless you for sharing.
Thank you, Ingrid.
So emotional. So poignant. Thank you for your honesty and your eloquent commentary. I wish you a meaningful Christmas.
I agree with so many of these comments above. You write because of your own pain but your gift with words and your courage to share them helps those of us who struggle in this form of expression, find comfort! Thanks for doing “what is yours to do”!!!
Thank you for that encouragement. And thank you for taking the time to offer those words.