This was a first holiday.
A first holiday without my father-in-law, Rob.
My husband’s dad.
My daughter’s grandfather—or Granpa, because he “didn’t like to sound old or posh.”
This was his favourite time of year, and he was guaranteed to spoil everyone in sight. If he knew you, you felt his warmth—whether through a hand-delivered coffee at exactly the right moment, help finishing a home renovation project, or an over-the-top latest gadget or must-have toy.
He loved his Christmas movies, music, and stories. Cowboy classics, Star Wars, and Vinyl Cafe were favourites. “The more the merrier,” he’d always say, routinely cooking for 30 or more.
Last Christmas
This time last year, we were juggling creating Christmas magic for our daughter while also providing 24/7 hospital coverage for Rob in the ER.
I can safely say that humanity is reflected in the ER on Christmas Day—and that joy can still be felt in the toughest of moments.
Rob passed in May of this past year, and his celebration was held in August. We knew this Christmas would be monumental without him.
So this year, in the months and weeks leading up to Christmas Day, we talked often about how we would honour him.
How We Honoured Rob
We made donations to charity.
He was a giver—of hands and heart.
We did the holiday activities we’d missed in recent years.
As caregiving needs increased, we’d adapted and debated home versus away holidays. This year, we chose home.
We kept my mother-in-law extra close.
Knowing this time would be especially hard for her, we planned visits, outings, and sleepovers.
We prepared early.
The details of Christmas Day—the gathering, the meal, the festivities—were planned weeks in advance.
A handmade centrepiece.
My mother-in-law crafted a cedar centrepiece using his polar bear plant holder—a special animal he shared with his own mom.
We spoiled each other a little extra.
With treats and gifts. His glasses were set out. We told stories.
An unexpected memory.
Our daughter asked for a Polaroid camera, which sparked stories about his favourite antique cameras—shaped by his dad’s days running a small-town newspaper, printing press, and working as a pressman.
So many stories.
We laughed. We cried. We felt it all.
A candle burned all day.
Until it became a bit of a hazard—and triggered another remembered story about a candle mishap years ago.
We toasted him.
Throughout the day, with whatever we were enjoying, while his favourite holiday music played.
We rested.
Throughout the day, and early into the night.
A Hope for Others
We hope some of these are ideas for conversations worth having—ways to prepare for and celebrate a life well lived.
May the holidays bring you warmth, love, and peace.
May you find calm and delight, joy and reflection.
Best wishes for a wonderful 2026,
Meaghen and family