The Unexpected Visit

Christmas has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember. There’s something so inexplicably enchanted about the hues of twinkling lights, the decorated trees...

Christmas has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember. There’s something so inexplicably enchanted about the hues of twinkling lights, the decorated trees, the heaping expanses of food, and the coming together of family and friends to share love and make memories. Usually, this is a magical time, however this year, for me, it wasn’t.

The most recent Christmas season was extraordinarily challenging. It was the first year I ever experienced Christmastime without my father, and I felt the stark absence much more deeply. In addition to the trepidation about the holiday’s arrival, there was a dollop of fear mixed in, wondering if I would be able to withstand it all without breaking down into a blubbering mess. It was a mixed bag of emotions that left me questioning if I could truly enjoy anything about the holiday at all.

My family usually celebrates Christmas Eve at my home. Because my dad was a vegetarian, my mother-in-law would always prepare a second batch of pasta specially for him with vegetable stock instead of chicken stock. My husband, who doubles as a pizza maker on Christmas Eve, would also be certain to make some pies devoid of meat. This year, none of that happened, and maybe to everyone else, that went unnoticed, but for me, it was like a massive neon sign flashing incessantly, reminding me of my father’s passing.

Before the arrival of Christmas Eve, I was speaking with my dad, like I frequently do, hoping he could hear me from wherever he is in the universe. I asked him to please visit us in spirit at the family gathering he used to love. I didn’t know how this would happen, but I was hoping I would notice a sign of his presence.

As everyone arrived, I desperately yearned to see his smiling face at the door, but I didn’t. So instead, I donned my own faux happy face while part of me was breaking inside, trying to push thoughts of my father out of my head long enough to at least enjoy some time with loved ones. Whenever I was speaking with someone, reflections of my dad clung to me like magnets, and the joy that previously consumed me at this time of year, was replaced with unfathomable sadness.

Fortunately, I have a four-year-old son who is the light of my life. Observing the magic of Christmas mesmerizing him was so infectious that I chose to siphon some of my own delight through his unadulterated joy. It gave me a slight reprieve from the pain, and for random moments, I was able to stop focusing on the unrelenting ache in my heart.

The final people who had yet to arrive were my brother-in-law and his family. As I was loading some dishes into the dishwasher to try to keep ahead of the proverbial mess that follows a holiday, I heard a knocking at the door. I believed it was them, but to my surprise, when I opened the door, no one was there. I was completely taken by surprise, confident I heard a persistent rapping.

A short while later, in my bedroom, I was searching for something in my pocketbook with the door closed. I was certain I heard someone calling out my name faintly from right outside the door. I was so convinced of it, I even responded that I would be right out. When I stepped into the hallway, again, no one was there. I stood for a few moments, motionless, in awe of what I believed had just occurred.

In the days that followed, I couldn’t help but replay the events of the evening, and even though in the deepest recess of my heart I knew it was you, my mind dissected the experience. I started to believe that maybe it sounded as if someone was calling my name, and perhaps the knocking at the door was just someone tapping on the coffee table, or my son banging one of his toys on the floor. I went back and forth in my brain, trying to talk myself out of what I know I heard.

Instead of graciously accepting the magnificent gift that was given to me, doubt crept in. I questioned why I would mistrust that my father’s presence was still with me, and the only thing I could conjure was that maybe a small fragment of me doesn’t know if I truly believe in life after death. Part of me has complete faith, but the other part isn’t so sure as there are so many questions I have that no one on this planet could possibly answer with a hundred percent certainty.

I’m fractured on the fault line of belief. My heart and mind are usually at odds. I guess you can say in some regards, I’m like Doubting Thomas. I’ve always questioned everything and continually seek below the surface. I usually don’t take things at face value. Maybe my mind would be more at rest if I did.

I want proof of eternal life. Like Doubting Thomas, that piece of me wants to see before I believe. I want to know for sure that life after death exists before I can allow my heart to be vulnerable and believe that my father is still with me even though I desperately want him to be. Although it gave me tremendous comfort to experience that encounter on Christmas Eve, I can’t help but wonder if it was genuinely what I believed it to be.

I’ve always struggled with wholehearted faith in anything. Maybe now is the time to confront that and understand that even though everything unknown about the workings of the universe and life after death can’t be answered, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Not everything can be seen, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Because electricity is unseen does that mean it isn’t real, even though I can turn my television on and light my home? I believe electricity exists, so why am I having such a hard time having faith that my father paid me an unexpected visit on Christmas Eve?

Sometimes, there just aren’t any explanations for things that occur in this world, and all we can really do is trust what our heart believes to be true. I choose to believe that it was you, Dad. I choose to believe that you wanted to be with your family celebrating, and that you honored my request and paid us all a visit, even though I was the only one to experience it.