Home for the Holidays

Home For The Holidays

John Paul Derryberry

Recently- I emceed a story telling event raising funds for homeless families in the Cedar Rapids area. This was the story I used to open the night!

Our family once missed three Christmases in a row. I mean, we had Christmas, we opened gifts, ate Mama Derryberry's French Toast, and the Derryberry loving sarcasm littered our conversations. Still, it wasn't our Christmas, and it sure didn't feel like home. Our dad died in June of 97, I was 14 years old. And every holiday changed after his death, but Christmas changed the most.

Our time together was filled with arguing, lying, avoiding, and forgetting we loved each other. None of us grieved together until years later, and full disclosure it was almost all my fault. Figuring out how to be 14 and grieving was hard, and I failed. Heck figuring out any life tragedy at any age is hard. What followed was three years of yelling at my mom to stop asking about how I felt about Dad's death. Telling my siblings to step off because they got Dad until they were adults. Lying to my friends, teachers, and coaches that everything was all right. I started to drink to block out the inner voices talking about suicide and never being good enough.

The saving grace was a commitment I made to play college basketball to my father before his death. The plan was to complete my promise and then end my life. Awkward holiday after an awkward holiday occurred in our house. I played basketball non-stop, I had too. I'm a slow guy who can't jump, wish my dad was a bigger fan of golf. I may have been able to be good at that sport. But my mom and I became two strangers grieving the loss of a man separately, her a husband, me a father.

I got good enough to accept a scholarship to play college basketball at 17. And then I got lucky enough to receive some brutally honest but excellent advice from a teacher, my mom and I took a trip to London, England. It was on the 7-hour plane ride that we started to grieve together. We shared stories of dad, talked of how we missed him dearly and laughed about the pranks he pulled.

6 months later it's early November 2000, my mom and brother flew into Kansas City, Kansas, to watch me suit up for my first college basketball game. We were losing by ten with 5 minutes left, and it's the only time in my life I rooted for my team to lose by a lot because I wouldn't play unless it was a blowout. It happened, and I checked into my first college game with a minute and 28 seconds left. I wiped away tears as I stepped on to the court. My mom wiped away tears from the stands as I proceeded to airball a three-pointer at the buzzer. We lost by 25, but it was the best 25 point loss ever.

My mom, my brother and I hugged after the game, went to dinner, and she dropped me off at the team hotel. I didn't play in the Saturday game, and as we loaded up the bus to head back to Iowa, she said, "It will be great to have you home for Christmas," I replied, "Yes, it will." My brother commented, “Kind of hoping you’d stay in Iowa.” I love Derryberry sarcasm, it’s the best way we communicate we love each other. I tell people all the time. I buried my father in Kansas City and was finally ready to be home for the holidays three and a half years after his death.

As we enter the holiday season, if you are home for the holidays, cherish it; not everyone gets that feeling. And just maybe go out of your way to gift that feeling to someone else. If you are not in a place that you gives you the home for the holiday feelings, keep moving toward the life that will provide you with those feelings. Whether it takes 3 years as it did for me, or twenty, there is no more comforting hug than the knowledge you are home for whatever holidays you celebrate. I hope you find that sense of warmth and do the best you can while searching for it.