Good Monday morning...

 

… and the holidays are upon us, and so is my annual “dance with depression” as I like to call it.  I have given this a lot of thought over the years and I believe it is a combination of the grief work I’ve been exposed to in my hospice work, as well as the growing appreciation I’ve had for my dad’s life.  He died in 1986.

I have had a very sheltered life, growing up in a family that was very safe and loving.  We never lacked anything, my sister and I were both given the opportunity to go to college, choose who we loved, and encouraged to be independent.  So why this annual dance?  I think it is something I observed in my dad that I wasn’t aware of until years after he had died.  I was 24 years old when he died, married less than a year at the time, and Lisa and I were just at the beginning of establishing our own traditions.

My dad’s mother died when he was just 9 years old, I think she was 33 years old when she died of complications from colitis.  His dad remarried soon after and he and his brother became part of a blended family with a stepmother and two stepsisters.  That was all fine, but I don’t believe my dad ever found peace with the death of his mother.  My name, “Mike” was his mom’s nickname, so I am told.  While I am more than honored to carry that name, it occurs to me that the decision to name me came from a place of deep sadness for my dad.

Dad married well.  My mom is one of the most upbeat and positive people you will ever meet.  She is just like her mom was, and I believe my dad felt like he hit the jackpot when he met and married my mom.  So why the depression around the holidays?  My guess, his grief.  He entered the holidays with the lingering depression of missing his mom, something that he had grown accustomed to since he was a 9-year-old child.  As his son, I observed this grief as normal, as how dads do the holidays.

So why this dance?  Good question!  Since Lisa and I are not much into dancing, it has nothing to do with us, it is a me-thing.  My learned holiday depression is part of my continuing bond with my dad.  Over the years I have continued to deepen my appreciation for him and the hope that he had for both my sister and I as we became adults and would have our own families.  So, while depression sounds negative, for me it is a deeply personal sadness that has become my companion, my dance partner for the holidays.

In our bereavement groups we know that there is no “right” or “wrong” with grief, it just “is what it is” – deeply personal.  If the above explanation sounds like an excuse, then I have miscommunicated what it really is – my love for my dad.  I thank the Lord for Curt “Bud” Patton, (1937 – 1986).

For His glory,

Pastor Mike