It is Christmas Eve.
Growing up, I looked forward to this day more than any other. It was when my mother, my sister, and I would gather to celebrate Christmas together as a family. Those memories feel even more precious now, having lost my father. When I interviewed him three years ago for his 80th birthday on my podcast, he told me that some of the happiest moments of his life were our Christmas Eve celebrations.
“Your mother always knew how to take Christmas to the next level,” he recalled with a smile. “It may have been a little overkill, but it sure was a lot of fun.”
Now more than ever, I am grateful to have my beautiful wife, daughter, sister, and mother with me during a holiday that is extraordinarily bittersweet for all of us. This year has carried its share of loss. Both my sister and I lost our longtime dogs—treasured “grand-puppies” to my father. Now that he has joined them in the afterlife, I find myself holding even tighter to everything he loved about Christmas.
Just as our tree was always overflowing with gifts, so too was the abundance of our holiday table. My mother would make her famous twice-baked potatoes, and my father would be outside grilling his legendary steaks. A Christmas Carol has long been a favorite story in our family, and Dad would inevitably come in from the bitter cold—where he’d been tending the grill—announcing that he was presenting us with our “annual Christmas goose.” It was the best meal of the year, every year.
After dinner, we would settle in to watch one of the many film versions of Dickens’ classic. My father could quote the story flawlessly, delivering lines in his rich, commanding voice that never failed to make us laugh.
When it came to gifts, my father was always practical and generous. Once I received my first handicapped van in 2006, he would have certificates made up entitling me to one free tank of gas, a town tag, an oil change, or a month of car insurance paid. Before that, he made sure I never ran out of printer ink or supplies for my writing. Buying gifts for him, however, was always more of a challenge.
For many years, Dad worked out of town as the chief of police in Vinton, staying in an apartment during the week and coming home only on weekends. As a result, he appreciated gifts that spared him grocery shopping—large boxes of assorted oatmeal or an array of hot sauces, the hotter the better. In his retirement years, he especially enjoyed receiving a bottle of New River Red wine from West Wind Winery here in Wythe County, which I happily sent home with him to Myrtle Beach each Christmas.
This past year, his friend, former Sheriff Charles Foster, narrated a documentary film I produced based on the book I published nine years ago about my father’s law enforcement career. I hope to have the film fully polished and ready for public viewing within the next year, but I am deeply grateful that my father was able to see it first, and approve of it, just as he did with the book in 2016. Herb Cooley: The Law Enforcement Legacy of My Father means more to me than anything I have ever accomplished, especially now that I no longer have him to share stories with or make new memories.
As we look toward the future, I am thankful for the traditions I’ve started with my own family. Dickens’ timeless story remains central to our Christmas rituals. Each year, I read A Christmas Carol aloud to my wife and daughter, and we always try to attend a live performance or find a new interpretation of the tale. Although we were unsuccessful this year, we have cherished many trips to see the production at Barter Theatre with my mother. At home, we watch nearly every film version available, my obsession beginning, of course, with Disney’s Mickey’s Christmas Carol.
This year, we are also deeply missing our dog Sophie, whom we had to put down in March at the age of 14. We used to take her to the free Christmas light display at Felts Park, presented by High Country Lights. This year, we simply couldn’t bring ourselves to go. It’s my father’s hometown, and it was a place filled with memories of both Dad and Sophie. I remember taking Mom and Dad there once. Dad was delighted and told everyone how wonderful it was. Seeing his joy made me incredibly happy.
Sophie’s absence also made our annual family portrait feel incomplete, and for the first time, our Christmas cards were too painful to send.
As a very close family of three, Emily, Bella, and I are still finding our footing without Pop and Sophie. We are doing our best to cling to one another, fully aware now that life is finite and time is far more precious than we ever truly understand.
Christmas, like every other day, will never be the same without my father. But we will always treasure the memories of him as the heart of our family, especially during the holidays.
We will never forget.
