Ray and Judy are a lovely couple who own a quaint bookshop in Rockaway, NJ. The store sells a variety of intricacies that we loved to browse: baseball cards, gag gifts, Chicken Soup for the Soul, paper dolls, and Hank books. 

Who is Hank? Hank is a man whose day consists of going to work, coming home, and reading either one of his comics from his $100,000 collection or one of his many Stephen King novels, watching TV in the dark, or going to Ray and Judy’s Book Stop. My aunt works for Hank’s wife. 

For reasons the mind will never fully comprehend, simply stopping at Ray and Judy’s wasn’t tradition enough. Our fathers had to take it a step further and out of their unscrupulous and conniving ways a new pastime was birthed - torturing Ray and Judy. 

They would repeatedly send Kyle into the shop with never enough money. Kyle would have to insist that he buy one of Hank’s books. It was always Hank. 

When they weren’t using Kyle as a scapegoat, they would post up at the front counter themselves and pester Ray and Judy with questions and jokes about Hank. It was always Hank. 

According to Bauer Family lore which has been written down in Bauer and Company’s 100 Biggest Oops (this a true, living document), “One day the owner of Ray and Judy’s told Hank about the jokes and described the people telling them. Hank responded by saying, ‘Oh, they are just two men who don’t want to grow up.’ Bauer and Company may never step back into the book stop again, but who cares, it’s just another place on Main Street that they can’t go to.”

But we went back year after year.  

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I wrote about the Card Contest in the Chicken Soup for the Soul holiday edition book. 

For many, Jesus and Santa are the two main guys of Christmas. They steal the show. And although Jesus is the reason for the season in our household, there is another guy who is almost just as important to our family every holiday season. It’s the Card Guy. 

We have a long-standing tradition on my dad’s side of the family of having a card contest over the years. What started as a friendly game of voting on which Christmas card was the best to be sent to my uncle and his family turned into an all-out fierce competition of judging, alliances, secret voting, song and dance, tears, fights, and carefully crafting the perfect and funniest card for half a year. We’ve had family members become the Griswalds, Kardashians, Joe Biden and Obama, and Ralphie and Randy from A Christmas Story all in the name of the Card Contest. And out of that, the Card Guy came to life. 

The Card Guy is my uncle. On the eve of the contest, he transforms into character wearing a jean vest full of Christmas cards from days of yore. The lights dim, the music sounds, and he bursts into the room almost magically singing and dancing the opening number. Usually a spoof on a popular song. It’s oddly reminiscent of Michael Scott performing at the Dundies. Throughout his entire performance for the night, he does a spectacular job of hosting the contest. He divides the cards into categories: Nature, Religious, Plain Text, and the biggest, most coveted one of all, the Picture category. Then, he dazzles us with his jokes, wit, charisma, and charm until he ultimately crowns the winner of the night. For a while, the Card Guy was on top of the world. 

But over time, we became greedy and hungry for victory. We pushed the Card Guy for more. More jokes. More songs. More pizzazz. And we riddled him when the contest dragged on for too long. We belittled him when our cards didn’t win. We booed him when his jokes didn’t land. We demanded him to perform like he was some kind of show puppet and not a real person with real feelings. We couldn’t see it, but the Card Guy was cracking. The pressure was too much. 

Finally, he hung up his hat and announced his retirement. Some family members made feeble attempts to encourage him to perform again, but he simply wouldn’t do it. But with the birth of children, weddings, surgeries, and the like, the family wasn’t able to be together at Christmastime for the past two years. We made some tries to have the contest over Facebook, but it was missing something. It was missing the Card Guy. 

With the last years being so hard we all needed something to unite the world during the holiday season. Someone to bring peace and simplicity back into the homes of America again. We needed the Card Guy. But more importantly, we needed the Card Guy because he unites our family together. He makes us laugh. He makes us value family traditions. He gives us hope that despite everything that has happened in the world, we will always have each other to lean on, fight, and make up with, and ultimately create long-lasting memories with. Ones we can tell our children about. 2020 wasn’t the year for traditions to be forgotten. It was the year for them to be remade, rebirthed, and restored in any way possible. It was the year for Card Guy. 

We brought it back for a few years, but then my mom died, and it was too hard to do it. 

HOWEVER, stay tuned for next year. We will be back, and you can submit your card to the contest. 

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Christmas starts with a birth and, for us Bauers, ends with death. During 2nd Christmas, our fathers loaded us in the car and drove us to Restland Memorial Park, the final resting place for my granddad (my dad’s father), my great-grandfather, and my great-grandmother. 

Because just simply paying our respects to the deceased is too much to ask for, our dads designed elaborate, competitive games for the kids to play to earn money. You might be quick to dismiss these playground games and chalk it up to two fathers who probably only wanted a few minutes to themselves to smoke their cigars. However, I know our fathers and these contests were just as much for their entertainment as it was for ours. 

Much like the wise men delivering gifts to Jesus, our padres, too, made us deliver gifts to the graves of our departed loved ones. The person with the most unique gift won.

In hindsight, I am abashed to admit that we aided and abetted in petty grave robbery and just enabled our fathers’ miserly misconducts. “We don’t need to buy flowers for the graves, we will just have our children steal things.” 

Once the gathering of the objects ended, we were free to frolic around the cemetery

Other Graveyard Olympic games consisted of the following: 

• First to Locate Our Family’s Plots
• The Youngest Person to Die (Diabolical thinking about that now)
• The Oldest Person to Die

Then, for the Closing Ceremonies, we would skip and chant around the graves with a Hail Mary or Our Father probably thrown in there somewhere. Bizarre but then again our fathers are bizarre and had a bizarre relationship with their dad. 

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To be fair, I had been warned. Yet, the pain of the second year knocked me down in an earth-shattering way.

The anniversary of my mom’s death came and went. I was thrust back into the start of the school year soon after. I didn’t have time to process what entering the second year meant.

But, over time, I soon started to realize all of the nuances of Year 2. And I didn’t like them.

To me, the griever, a year removed from my mom’s death is still very fresh. To me, the lifelong journey of my grief is just beginning. To everyone else who doesn’t get it, a year is so long ago.

You start questioning your actions. “Am I still talking about her death way too much?” “Do people think I’m milking my sadness?” “Why does this still feel so hard?”

The answer to that last question is it feels hard because it is hard. The second year of grief can be so much harder than the first, despite what people believe.

Here is what 20–30-year-olds had to say about the second year after losing their parents.

1.) I’m in the second year and it is just horrible. — Jennifer

2.) I’m in Year 2 of my mom dying and am finding it to be a lot heavier than Year 1. Not as shocking as the first year, and I’ve definitely learned tools to handle it better. But Year 2 seems to be a deeper kind of grief as more time passes without her.

I don’t think a lot of people who have been through this understand that things don’t just get better after the first year. — Lauren

3.) I think it was the realization that this is the way it’s going to be for the rest of my life. — Mike

4.) I’m expecting it to be worse. I lost my mom just a month ago, and we were very close. When my aunt, who was like a second mom, passed, I was ok on her first anniversary but broke down on her second. So I’m expecting the same or worse with Mom. It did get easier with my aunt after some years. It has been 16 now. So I’m hoping it will get easier after a few years go by. Yes, years…it will take lots of time, but it will get easier (hopefully). For all of us. — Janet

5.) 11 months for me. December 19th, 2023, was the worst day of my life by far. I don't know how I made it through these 11 months and surely have no idea how I will make it past the year. “She’s with you.” Yeah, I hear it and feel it. But the physical presence meant soooo much more. Everything is a milestone. -Kadie

6.) Just started on year 2…. So much harder….. — Tracey

7.) It is year 2 since my Mom passed. I think the reality sets in, and it is not any easier. I miss her so much. The phone calls every evening to make sure she is ok. All the visits are done. No, it is not easier. -Cheryl

8.) Year two is lonely. Mom is gone, but her traditions linger. Every family member has moved beyond shock to a new level of grief or coping. The unity in shock and pain is missing. — Julia

9.) I completely agree; the first year is shock and numbness, but the second year is when reality sets in. — Jeff

10.) For me, year 2 was better because I had experienced all the firsts. She died at the end of January, so she had been gone a while by the time the first holidays rolled around… so I wasn’t still in shock and felt the deep grief of the holidays without her. Once her 1 year passed, I felt a bit better. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of hard times during year 2… but each year has gotten a bit better. — Becky

11.) Year two was hard! Bc I thought ok, it’s gonna get easier. Not the case; it was how has it been two years, how have I lived without her for 2 years, how? — Shanda

12.) My shock is gone and now reality sets in. — Marie

13.) About a month after my Mom passed away, I met someone who told me that the second year was worse. Definitely not what I wanted to hear. But absolutely true! I was glad to have been warned. Everyone thinks if you get past “the year of firsts,” then you’re good. But it’s not true at all.

When they told me about year 2, they said that for the first year, you think they’re away. But by the second year, it starts to sink in that they aren’t coming back. — Gretchen

14.) Year 2 was especially hard since my dad was dating someone. I understood his wanting someone in his life to love and was angry at myself for being angry at the situation and her for leaving too soon. By the end of Year 2, it finally settled in my bones she was gone, and picking up my phone to call or text her stopped, and I accepted the situation. — Sara

15.) My mom died on Thanksgiving day of 2022. In year one, I was in shock, I kept busy to not feel the pain. Year two has been so hard and getting harder the closer we get to the 24th. It’s really settled in that she’s gone now that I’m truly starting to process. — Sarah

16.) Year two was worse. The reality sets in. The friends who haven’t experienced such great loss, their support no longer exists. People expect you to just move on. I was VERY close to my mom…its been so hard without her. I really miss the love my mom gave me. — AnnaMarie

17.) Year 2 was much worse. I think the reality of it sets in. In year 1, I kept telling myself to “get through” my 1st birthday without her, 1st Thanksgiving, 1st Christmas, etc. I focused on that and not so much on her actually being gone. So Year 2 hit really hard. I am in year 4, and I lost my Dad back in April, so it is back to now getting through everything without my parents. What a journey! — Melissa

18.) I think I was in a fog and numb during the first year. The second year was when the shock wore off. It was awful for me. I’m now in the third year, and I still have moments of very heavy grief, but it’s not quite as often as last year. — Hayley

19.) In year 2, the shock is gone. Only the deep-seated awareness that it isn’t going to change. She is gone and is not coming back. — Mary

20.) My mom died in March 2021. NYE, I was so sad and had a panic attack almost because I felt like it wasn’t fair to go into 2022 without her. Does that make sense? — Alicia

21.) Mine passed the day after my birthday, and I don’t know how I will handle it next year. I may stop celebrating birthdays or I may celebrate my life and hers. We’ll see. Sending love and hugs. — Janet

22.) Please tell me it isn’t true about year 2! It’s only been since Oct 8th, and every day, I dread waking up. The pain is unbearable. I keep wishing, praying that she will walk down the hall. I really can’t do this alone..and I’m all alone…with the exception of all of you, there is no one to hold me, to tell me it will be okay, to hug me, and let me weep on their shoulder. I am so alone — Tracy

23.) I’m in the 2nd year of losing my Mum suddenly to a heart attack. I was 32 at the time. I’ve found this year really hard and so different from the 1st year. The shock of it has gone, and you’re just left with the loss. I’m starting to get back to some sense of a normal life, and it will just hit me sometimes — my Mum died. It still doesn’t seem real, sometimes I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality.
She feels further away from me now too. When she first died, I’d only seen her a week before, and I still felt so close to her. Now she feels so distant and I’m scared of that feeling getting worse, of the memory of her slipping away.

Also, everyone around you has moved on and forgets to check in and ask how you’re doing. One of my neighbours, who I barely know, asked me how I was coping the other da,y and it made me cry because none of my family or close friends even ask anymore.

My advice would be to do what you can to hold on to the parent you lost and keep their memory alive. Have photos of them around, talk about them, go to places you went to with them, and find your own way of keeping them in your life, even if they can’t be there physically anymore. — Lucy

24.) I haven’t gotten to year 2 yet; my dad’s 1st death anniversary is coming next month. I always assumed 2nd year was going to feel worse than the 1st. Every day, I am further away from him, from having seen him, talked to him, heard his laugh, etc. This whole first year feels like maybe he could just be in the hospital or something. But now it’s like my body is realizing he is truly gone. — Katie

25.) I’m a week into year two, and it’s very different. In year on,e I was holding my breath to get to year two; now I’m figuring it out. — Kayley

26.) Just wanted to share that I’m approaching year 2 and feel the same way as you- it’s about to be my second round of holidays without her, and it feels just empty. The loss is just prominent, and the realization that she isn’t coming back is even greater. Definitely a deeper and different kind of grief on some days; it feels like it happened years ago, and some days it feels like it just happened this week. People don’t really ask about it anymore, and it almost feels like I don’t deserve the same kind of “sympathy” in year 2 as I did in year 1, almost like I should’ve grieved it by now and should be okay. — Caroline

27.) I am in the middle of year 2 and it definitely is different than year 1.
The “shock” has faded, but the reality of it hits even harder. I could be having a normal, “good” day, and I’ll have random intrusive thoughts like, “But your Mom is dead.” And then it just strikes all over again. I find the longing and yearning have become worse for me. As I go on to live this new normal, I find myself in more situations where I just want to talk to her and keep her updated with my life. I, too, feel a little more distant from her, but this is where conscious effort has to be made to keep her memory alive. Talking about her, listening to her favorite music, going to places you’ve been with her. It can be difficult, but I think it’s necessary to keep that alive.

The yearning will never go away, and for me, that’s one of the biggest hurdles I’m learning to navigate through,h and I will for the rest of my life. — Andrea

I know it won’t be this bad forever. Grief still comes in waves. It’s nice to know that I am not alone and that there is a whole community out there that understands.
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If this is you and you are in Year 2, hang in there. I’m right there with you.

If you know someone who is in Year 2, understand that grief has no timeline and that time doesn’t always make it better immediately.