In 2021, I had you. In 2022, I do not.
Most people, especially those who have had a difficult year, welcome the new year with open arms. They look forward with hope and determination to a year that will bring more joy, better health or more success. To be honest, that is usually my attitude as well. For many, 2021 was a year of disaster, disease and death, a year of anxiety and loss. Therefore, it was not surprising to see people hugging each other, tears rolling down red cheeks, hands patting backs when the clock hit midnight. The fireworks seemed particularly grandiose and festive, the music and church bells louder than usual. For me, however, something was different this time. I looked at the hands of the clock moving toward 12, the countdown in Times Square with tremendous sadness. When my father passed in 2021, the physical separation was hard. Him being absent in the space where I existed was incredibly disconcerting and constituted an abyss of unknow that I was not familiar with. From the day of my birth to the day of his death, his presence never failed. He was always close enough even when he was not.
However, people and relationships exist not only in space but also in time. My four decades on this earth always contained my father. My time was also his time. The year would change for both of us, but not this time. My dad’s time stopped in 2021. How am I supposed to leave him there and move forward to 2022? When the new year came, I loss my father again, in time. 2021 was the year that took him from me and at the same time it will be the last year I had him. I may want to hate 2021, but I cannot. My father was with me in 2021. He existed in space and time. 2022 is the first year that he will not be with me, the first year where I will not make any memory with him. So, while I appreciate the well wishes from friends and family, they rang a bit different this time around. I do not know yet what to think of 2022, but it is not with excitement that I welcome it. It is the year that I do not yet blame for anything, but it is the year I already know cannot give me what I miss the most, my father’s voice and laugh.
