The Last Call: A Christmas to Remember 

“ Anytime you’re going to grow, you’re gonna lose something. You’re losing what you’re hanging onto to keep safe. You’re losing habits that you are comfortable with, you’re losing FAMILIARITY”. James Hillman. It was December 23, 2014. For us, it was just another day. We were crammed in front of the TV, watching Kevin McCallister putting up the paint cans trap to assault the two men intruders sneaking into his house,  in my family’s favorite Christmas movie Home Alone, as we do every year during winter break. Drinking hot cocoa in front of our small heater, and eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing.  I finally got up from the floor to pick it up—and then we got our faces full of white paint.

“Hello, oh hey Grandma how are you”

“He’s not breathing,  

he’s not breathing,  

HE’S NOT BREATHING,” Grandma kept repeating as her voice trembled. 

       My heart dropped, she didn’t say a name but I already had a feeling about who she was talking about. I found myself frozen on the spot. I felt that if I moved it would be real. The news hit me by surprise. I did not react at first; all I wanted to do was deny it. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t true that she must have made a mistake. But to my complete horror, I was wrong. As I stood in the middle of the family room, the next few sentences impacted me like ice-cold daggers.

             “….. he’s….. he’s….DEAD!” 

              “HE’S DEAD!”

 My grandmother’s words linger in my head as my mother takes the phone from me. 

“ Hello, what’s wrong?” she asks.

 The next sound I heard was the phone as it touched the ground “BAM.” Mom yelled with hot tears bleeding down her cheeks “WE HAVE TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL NOW”! She looked at me with heavy rain clouds that followed me around, blocking out the sunshine and weighing down my spirit. I’d never seen my mum look so helpless and vulnerable. Her eyes were like dark clouds about to pour down.

 Mom disappeared down the stairs as I remained motionless and paralyzed in my living room. It felt as if the surface of the ground was covered with hot tar, immobilizing me. The only thing I could hear was Mom sobbing through the bathroom door as she was having a shower. Trying to wash away the raindrops from the storm within. Everyone else ran to get their phones, change their clothes, and grab the quick thing they could lay their hands on as if it were a reality show. Now, I was all by myself. In my thoughts, the phrase “He is dead” kept repeating like a song. 

The world appeared to come to a halt. I witnessed absolute hopelessness being lost at sea without a compass or a paddle. I felt dizziness and faintness as if I were falling into a hole. I always assumed this moment would never come, but you can never be prepared for it. I just stood there speechless, unable to form words to say. My eyes were blazing embers, their flames dancing within, yet the river of tears remained unquenched.  I wanted to get out of here, to flee, and to do everything to get away from these feelings. After everything, I didn’t want to accept what had happened. Half of me wanted to cry my heart out, while another half wanted to punch something with the rage building up inside me.

The anger in my heart was like a raging storm, tearing through the calm facade of my existence. My body felt like a bomb about to go off.  The feelings of abandonment and sorrow were overwhelming. I was enraged that our lives had been changed. I was enraged that dealing with loss was so difficult. The world felt strangely empty, unsafe, and lonely. I was overcome with a sense of helplessness as if I couldn’t do anything about the issue. I felt as if I had no one to turn to for support. I was entirely and completely alone. Like a ship without a captain, aimlessly wandering in a huge ocean.

Then I yelled, “WHY GOD, WHY HIM?” My only shield has vanished. The barrier that protected me from the ongoing fight of life. I was experiencing a void in my life. A wall of space that would never be filled. A sense of doom had been implanted in my soul. The tears that spilled were like a broken promise, a faith betrayal. I felt helpless and isolated. I yelled and begged for an explanation, but there was none.  

Years passed, and my family never discussed the horrible event that occurred. We carried on with our lives. Everyone came up with their own manner of dealing with the void that influenced our household. Some of us found solace in religion, while others found it in friends and their professions. We learned to live our lives without forgetting the loss of my grandfather, but we never discussed it.  I utilized the loss to break free from the bubble I had created for myself. The loss aided me in discovering my own identity. I was completely reliant on others especially him and never thought I was worth anything.  It gave me a chance to rethink my life and find what I was passionate about. It gave me the confidence to take risks and follow my aspirations. I ultimately found strength and resilience in myself and realized I could live without depending on anyone else. I learned that I am capable of achieving great things on my own. This experience taught me to be independent and to strive for success. It also gave me an appreciation for life and the people around me. I now cherish my family even more, knowing that life can be taken away in an instant. I learned that life is a tapestry woven with strands of joy and grief, each having a purpose beyond our comprehension. We must learn to accept the tapestry for what it is, and trust that our joy will bring us closer to understanding its hidden purpose. We must also remember that our grief is not wasted, but an integral part of our journey. It is a necessary part of our growth.