This coming Christmas will be my third without my father, and I still miss him terribly. But it was during the first Christmas season without him, while I was shopping in one of my favorite bookshops — fantasizing about which book to give to which person — that I found myself feeling surprisingly giddy. I thought, “Oh good! Dad's gone!”
My father was a major collector of stuff, including random postcards, figurines, one-of-a-kind pens. Built-ins housed his massive library of books on all subjects. Marie Kondo, celebrated champion of de-cluttering, would have been appalled.
Dad's love of the tangible meant he was an excellent giver of gifts. And books — both the newest titles and special editions of beloved classics — were always at the top of his presents list.
If a new work by someone’s favorite author caught his eye, he’d buy a copy for that someone in a flash, before any of the rest of us could. It was so annoying.
That day in the bookstore I realized with glee there was at long last a job vacancy in the “giver of books” department. I was aghast at myself for thinking it, but it was an indisputable fact.
I grabbed up a volume of Ta-Nehisi Coates essays for my politically-minded brother, and a hot-off-the-press critically acclaimed novel for my fiction-loving mom. I chose a meditation book for my mindfulness-conscious husband, and “Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls” to inspire my very well-behaved daughter.
After months of navigating waves of grief, I felt content. And who did I need to tell about this contentment? My father! I struck up a silent conversation with him right there in the bookstore.
“I get to give all of these. Me,” I boasted.
“Go for it,” I imagined him responding.
I'd been trying to figure out how to fill my father's shoes, not getting anywhere. Until that afternoon.
Of course I'm not glad Dad's gone. But boy, do I love that I'm finally the one buying all those books for people.
My father's dying made that opportunity possible. The thing is, it's the way he lived his life that's made me so eager to take it.
Cara McDonough is a writer living in Hamden, Connecticut.
