What I really want for Christmas

Lately, I’ve been caught up in the whole commercialized Christmas, which has been a big change for me. It’s been a few years since I’ve actually felt like celebrating the holiday. It all started four years ago when my Dad passed. Since then, I’d been unable to get out of my Grinch-like funk.

The first year he was gone, the Christmas tree I had was taken down before December 25 even arrived. I felt so guilty celebrating when my Dad would never see another Christmas again. 

The following year, I convinced myself I didn’t need a tree and the year after that, I only put one up because my ex and I were hosting my family for dinner and my sister insisted we have a tree.

This year I allowed myself to get caught up in the magic I once believed actually existed around Christmas – the lights, the big, beautiful tree, the ornaments, the presents, the Christmas outings – I even caught myself singing that hideously addictive yet horribly annoying All I want for Christmas song. Thanks Mariah.

For the first time in a long time, it almost felt like it had growing up. Magical. Perfect.

Then today when I heard Joe Cocker died, all of the Christmas excitement and joy I felt immediately dissipated and I missed my Dad. A lot.

The grief I’d managed to bury for so long came back like a tsunami and I was completely overwhelmed, so much so that I actually felt like a beach ball had inflated in my throat and for a few moments, I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears spilled down my cheeks and I felt as though I were literally drowning.

My Dad always told me how when I was a baby and couldn’t sleep, he’d play ‘our’ song, sing it softly to me and rock me back to sleep. “Worked like a charm every time, babes.” I can almost hear him saying it.

My handsome Dad as a young police cadet at Christmas.

Even up until he passed when I was 24, he’d occasionally call me and leave me a voicemail when he’d heard ‘you are so beautiful’ on the radio. His voice would be cracking without fail every time, as though he had just relived a precious memory. I suppose in many ways, he had.

I’ve not listened to the song for years – I just couldn’t. By the time the first few piano notes were played, I’d be hysterical, frantically trying to catch my breath and all the while wishing my Dad were singing it to me. I know he never will again.

Foolishly, I looked the song up on YouTube after I read the news, which only made me more emotional. The song still had the same effect – it made me sad (read: I bawled my frickin' eyes out) – I just miss my Dad terribly.

The Christmas joy I finally found has been weighted down by the fact that I know the one thing I want more than anything, I will never again have – time with my Dad.

That’s not to say I’m not grateful or appreciative for what’s to come this Christmas – I’m in a great relationship, I’m living in a city I’ve always dreamed of being in and I’m on the ice again. I have my health, I have my family, I have my friends. But all of that does little to comfort me today.  

It’s been four years yet it feels like yesterday in many ways – the idiotic move of playing that song reaffirmed to me I’m far from “over” losing him.

While I’d give anything and everything under my tree to have just a few more moments with him, I know he’d be upset with me for not appreciating what I do have, even if he can’t physically be here to share it with me.

So, I’ll try my best to think positively, be grateful and take comfort in the memories we did have – they’re more valuable to me than anything on my wish list. 

And, if I need to cry, I'll give myself permission to. It's not all bad, I suppose - my cheeks get a little rosy after a good sob fest and who couldn't use a little extra colour this gloomy time of year?

How do you cope with grief during the holidays?

Mid-week rant: elevator etiquette

While I was at work today, I noticed something that really irked me – and it’s not unique to my work place. If you work in a building with more than one level, you probably witness this on a daily basis too.

My frustration this morning (I’ll get to it, I promise) inspired my idea to have an ongoing mid-week rant. 

This week’s gripe: elevator etiquette – or lack thereof.

Here’s how it materialized: I walked towards the elevator bank this morning and found myself standing beside another employee who was feverishly typing on her phone.

After a few seconds, the bell chimed, the doors opened and the employee standing beside me – head still down and fully submersed in BlackBerry zone – walked right onto the elevator without looking. She was so oblivious she bumped right into a gentleman who was waiting to get off. She barely looked up to mutter ‘sorry’ before she turned her attention back to her phone. She actually looked a bit annoyed I was holding her up as I waited for the surprised man to get exit.  

I wish I could say this was a one-off, but I see it all the time. Even when people aren’t distracted by phones or an iPod, they still rush onto the elevator before waiting to see if someone might be getting off. Where the hell is the fire?

But this isn’t the only thing that irks me about elevator passengers. I've witnessed many annoying and downright rude behaviours during my time as a nine-to-fiver in an multi-level office building.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and have come to the conclusion that perhaps they just don’t know how to behave politely on an elevator. So, I’ve compiled a few pet peeves along with helpful suggestions that will ensure the comfort and safety of all elevator patrons - only if they're executed:

• When the elevator arrives and the doors open, take two seconds and check if anyone is getting off before you bulldoze your way on. 

Think of it as right-of-way for elevator travels. You wouldn’t make a left turn in front of a vehicle coming straight towards you (at least, I hope not), so don’t cut in front of someone who has the right to exit before you get on. By having a quick glance, you’ll save yourself the embarrassment of knocking someone on their rear end or having to help them pick up whatever they dropped all over. By this point, the elevator will have continued on its journey – without you - and you’ll have to wait for the next one anyway. While it may like I'm exaggerating, you’re saving yourself time by taking the extra two seconds – trust me.

• Hold the “open door” button for passengers who may be slower getting on or off. 

Pretending to be on your phone is no excuse for letting the doors close on another passenger.I know this may be shocking to some, but not everyone is fortunate enough to be able to stroll on and off an elevator as they please. I’m sure the older woman with a walker or the young adult on crutches would really appreciate being able to get on the elevator without being squashed like a pancake by the doors while you pretend to look at your Facebook profile. Besides, we’ll all know you’re just being rude – most elevators don’t have reception.

• Elevator placement. 

Sometimes we’re fortunate that we get to stand where we want to in the elevator car. Personally, I prefer leaning on a railing on the right side –it’s a comfort thing. While it’s great to have selection, it’s important to know that the location you choose may come with additional responsibilities. Standing in front of the control panel is like sitting in the emergency exit on a plane. You get the luxury of not having someone directly in front of you, but you also have to be mindful of other passengers’ needs. 

• If someone is getting on the elevator, it’s proper etiquette to ask which floor they’re going to instead of forcing them to awkwardly reach around you to press the button. 

It’s even more important if someone has their hands full. Don’t force them to do a juggling act with their belongings if you have your hands free. Likewise, if someone is getting on or off and needs an extra second, hold the doors open. (See above). Finally, if you choose to stand in front of the doors like an eager beaver, make sure you step aside to let people on or off. Nothing says inconsiderate jerk like the person who forces passengers to bounce around like a pin ball between other riders and the door frame as they squeeze around you to get off at their floor. 

• Unless you’re in a dire emergency, there’s no harm in waiting for the next elevator if the first one is full. 

I don’t care how cutely you ask, no, we can’t just “squeeze you in”. Riding in an elevator is terrifying enough for some people without having the worry that the car is going to be over capacity because you don't have any patience. The idea of being packed like sardines with strangers in a confined space isn't enough to convince you? Throw bad hygiene and hot weather into the mix and you've got yourself an elevator ride from hell. See, isn't it much better to wait? 

• The last one makes me sick, literally. So much so that I’m going to keep it short and sweet: crop dusting is not appropriate. Ever. Unless you’re going to fess up Jim Carrey-style.

What bad elevator behaviour have you noticed? What advice would you give to people?

Easing back into blogging.... West-coast style

It’s been 18 months since I last posted on my blog. 18 MONTHS. A lot can happen in that time. In fact, a lot has.

I’ve moved four times: out of my first house and into my former in-laws, from there I bounced to my sister’s and a year and a bit ago, I packed my entire life into my little red Mazda and drove 4,800 kilometres with a girlfriend in search of a new beginning. Then, I moved into my own place. 

In September 2013, I started the job that enabled me to fulfill a pipe dream I had at 18 years old to relocate to BC. Now, I’m living it. It still feels totally surreal. Except the rain. The excessive rain feels very real. And wet. 

The first couple of weeks felt like a vacation. I started my new job, met people at work, shopped, and celebrated with friends I already had in the city. I was foolish enough to think that life would continue to carry on with my feet floating above the ground.

My crap literally invaded my aunt & uncle's place

A few weeks in and with my much of my stuff still sitting in suitcases that were tucked into every corner of my aunt and uncle’s townhome, reality started to sink in.

Run dates with my sister were replaced by FaceTime calls where I could see her but not visit her. I had to get used to living in someone else’s house, again, surrounded by their things and their routine, which caused me to feel displaced. I missed my friends. I missed my family. I missed home.

I spent weeks, perhaps even months, second guessing some of the choices I had made both before I left and since I arrived in Vancouver. It’s taken some time, but I finally feel like I’ve settled in and can call this beautiful city ‘home’ without feeling like a total fraud..... Except for the fact that I still don't know how to speak Starbucks. 

I've promised myself that I'm going to start blogging again - even if it is just once a week. I mean, my life isn't THAT exciting. So, grab a glass of shiraz or pinot and read on - I’ll be sharing some experiences: the good, the bad, and the ugly, and hopefully providing some entertainment along the way.

Stay tuned!