I miss you most at Christmas

Every year, for twenty years or more, I drove my family to Delaware to visit my parents at Christmas time. We would dread the day long drive each year, first with a baby, then later with two babies, then small children and finally, all day in a car with teenagers. Waking up in the dark to beat the morning rush hour traffic in Charlotte, Richmond by lunch time, and Washington DC before the afternoon rush, we would pull off of I-95 in Delaware, frazzled and tired, by dinner time. 525.4 miles in ten hours, we made that trip year after year after year.

I always felt such relief to walk into Mary Lee and Minor’s home. It was clean as a whistle and warm and inviting and when Dad said his customary “greetings!” I knew I had finally arrived home. Mom had a meal ready that would keep well and we all stood around looking at each other, glad for the ride to be over and anticipating all that Christmas was at the Seward’s home. And though my own home was far away, I always felt that I had come back to my original home where I was able to be carefree and relaxed, accepted for who I was, no matter what I did or did not do.

We did the same things and ate the same food and said the same words to one another over the years. Nothing happened in their house that wasn’t also happening in homes all across America. It was just what we did and I really didn’t appreciate it much until the last three Christmases. My kids are now in their mid-twenties and we stopped making the trip regularly when they left home. My wife deserved to be with her family for a change and it just didn’t make sense anymore.  We still drove up to visit but not so regularly and not always at Christmas.

When it would come time to leave for drive back home, Dad would park his Lincoln out in the driveway so I could back my Honda into the garage and load it up in the warm. At o’dark-thirty, Mom and Dad would be up, in their bathrobes and pajamas, coffee cups in hand, to see us off. For many years, I hugged my dad and told him I loved him, there in the kitchen. After several years, he came to respond, first with “uh-huh” then “me too”, until finally one year, I hugged him and he hugged me back and Minor Seward said, right out loud, “I love you too, son.”

Dad died in September of 2009 and this is the third Christmas that I won’t be able to hug him. I don’t think about him much now unless I am using a tool he showed me how to use, or using the table he built that is beside my chair in the den, or when I make coffee in the morning or check the house before bed or when I check the oil in my car, or when … ok I think about him every day.

But I think about him most at Christmas time.

Dave Seward

December 24, 2011

I miss you (most at Christmas Time) Mariah Carey

The fire is burning
The room's all aglow
Outside the December wind blows
Away in the distance
The carolers sing in the snow
Everybody's laughing
The world is celebrating
And everyone's so happy
Except for me tonight
Because...

[Chorus:]
I miss you
Most at Christmas time
And I can't get you
Get you off my mind
Every other season comes along
And I'm all right
But then I miss you
Most at Christmas time

I gaze out the window
This cold winters' night
At all of the twinkling lights
Alone in the darkness
Remembering when you were mine
Everybody's smiling
The whole world is rejoicing
And everyone's embracing
Except for you and I
Baby...

I miss you
Most at Christmas time
And I can't get you
Get you off my mind
Every other season comes along
And I'm all right
But then I miss you
Most at Christmas time

In the springtime
Those memories start to fade
With the April rain
Through the summer days
Till Autumn's leaves are gone
I get by without you
Till the snow begins to fall
And then...

I miss you
Most at Christmas time
And I can't get you
Get you off my mind
Every other season comes along
And I'm all right
But then I miss you
Most at Christmas time