The First Holiday Without My Dad Was Hard but Support Helps

As told to Jacquelyne Froeber

I hosted Thanksgiving this year, just as I’d done for the past eight years. I made the giant turkey, mashed potatoes and all the traditional favorites. The dessert table — my dad’s favorite spot to sneak off to when no one was looking — was overflowing with decadent pies and sugary treats.

I made enough food to feed an army — or in this case my big Italian family. My parents had seven of us in eight years and, over time, we’ve added spouses and 26 grandkids.

As usual, I kept myself busy cooking and chatting and refreshing drinks as people arrived. But then I passed by Dad’s seat at the head of the dinner table, and I immediately burst into tears. That’s the thing about grief. One minute you’re OK and the next — surprise! — you’re not.

Thanksgiving was our first holiday celebration without Dad. He passed away at 92, so his death wasn’t unexpected, but it was still hard.

Read: Expert Advice on Getting Through Your First Holiday Season After the Loss of a Loved One >>

Dad was the patriarch of our family — the nucleus — and we all revolved around him. My mother passed away from breast cancer when she was 56, so it was my dad who kept our family close and the traditions going.

Every year, we’d take a family photo with Dad seated in the middle surrounded by all his kids and grandkids and great grandkids. It was such a beautiful tradition when he was with us, but I felt absolutely crushed when my brother wanted to do the photo again this year.

2023

“I don’t want to do the picture,” I protested. I was emotional. I didn’t want a photo without Dad in the middle where he’d always been.

My brother said he understood, and he had a plan. “I’m going to make a collage of all the memorabilia with Dad and it’s important for us to see the void when he’s not in the picture because it makes you appreciate what we had,” he said.

My brother was right. We were blessed to have so many years with our dad and so many great memories, and that was something we wanted to keep going. We took the photo and it was tough — there were a lot of tears on my part — but it helped us open up to share and laugh and cry and talk about Dad. We talked about the holidays and the crazy times when something went wrong, the time Dad burned the turkey or when someone fell and broke their arm while dancing. By the time we finished talking and recalling all the crazy stories, everybody was laughing and we felt lighter.

2024

The holidays have always been really important to my family — and this was especially true for Dad. His favorite holiday tradition was the Feast of the Seven Fishes, which is a big Italian celebration on Christmas Eve. Our feast was a big production. Whoever was hosting it that year had to rent a tent, hire staff and get the food for at least 60 people. It was a lot of work, but Dad loved it and we’d do anything for him. After he passed, my siblings and I decided not to get together for the seven fishes — it was just too much to do.

But a few weeks later, our brother called and said he’d changed his mind. “Let’s carry on the tradition for Dad — let’s gather together for him,” he said.

My sisters and I realized at that moment that he needed support. We’d all been there for each other through phone calls and text messages and whatever we could do, but our brother needed the tradition this year. So, we didn’t think twice about it — on Christmas Eve, we’re having the feast. My sister will fly in from Chicago and we’ll all gather together under the tent the way we did when Dad was here with us.

It’s been difficult for me to get excited about the holidays because I know Dad won’t be there. He won’t give me a wink when he wants me to put on a pot of coffee after dinner or help me plan our next family gathering. His death has left a tremendous hole in my heart and sometimes the grief is overwhelming, especially during this time of year that he loved so much. But I’ve learned you have to share the grief and talk about loss and lean on other people for help. This Christmas Eve won’t be the same, but we’ll get through it together. And that’s what Dad has always wanted.

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