Lana Roelfzema

My Opa teaching me how to bake his famous bread.

I hate winter.

I hate winter because that is the season you were taken from my arms, leaving the moments of us existing only in my memories. I no longer have sleepovers at your house, and Oma no longer sleeps in your bed because the pain of your body not beside her is too much to bear. I hate winter because, after all of your fighting, the cancer still won. Though the chronic disease robbed my name from your thoughts, and the remnants of your speech have perished, the words “I love you” weakly muttered out of your sickly voice. Those words I wish I could hear you say just one last time.

In the months of cheerful carols and hums about jingle bells and those who will be kissed under the mistletoe, my mind can only acknowledge the lack of you. Spring moves with ease, and the summer passes joyously, but as the first snow falls, I always find myself full of sorrow. Every year the trees’ leaves persist into powdered ashes and dormant branches still creak. But this year, your utterance is not there, being excised from my memory. I have condemned myself for allowing your voice to fade into a void, destined to be heard no more.

As a little girl, I cherished the moments of the holiday season at your house, being graced upon the sight of candy canes decking your evergreen tree. Annie always went crazy as we all arrived, and the snow from my UGG boots pervaded throughout your timeworn carpet. Funneling through the house, fumes of freshly baked Christmas cookies and your famous homemade bread radiated in the air. And while presents were being opened and wrapping paper dispersed throughout the floor, the smile on your face always prevailed. The captivating grin I could never forget.

I hate winter because the years following your passing were irrevocable. I hate winter because that was the season my Opa was stolen from me, robbing him of the chance to witness me blossom into the young woman I have become. My achievements now exist only in the realm of what you were there to witness. Though I am no longer ten, in your eyes, I always will be.

I hate cancer because it devastated my life and countless others. It took my role model, someone who would constantly show up for me, the man who taught me how to bake. It took the man who constantly wore a smile. Cancer stole my Opa from my childhood, and I will never hear the words “I love you,” come from his distinctive voice ever again.

The holiday season used to fill me with joy, but now that you have left this world, I can’t help but hate it.