What you leave behind…

Usually the whole Christmas period is a reflective one for me. Long ago, when my mum was alive, we’d have some massive open houses. The scale of cooking was unbelievable and by the end of the day, we could hardly feel our feet for the soreness. Yet, my parents and I would sit down together and enjoy the quiet of the night by chatting. We’d reflect on the events of the day, hope that we’d welcomed our visitors well, and always end on the real meaning of Christmas. They would always say that however scrappy and messy that first Christmas was in a stable, everyone was welcome. It was a good reminder. I loved those times so much. Over the years, things changed, as my mum’s illness progressed. We didn’t have massive open houses anymore, but we always had some friends over. The winding down moments were still so special and the sentiments expressed never changed.

In January 2006, my mum passed away. My world collapsed. There’s a lot I lost then that I’ve never regained. It took me a long time to understand all that. I remember too the pressure I felt to be okay. Everyone wants you to be okay! I remember the saree I wore to church. I made such a huge effort – more than usual. I even managed to go to a cousin’s home with my dad, armed with presents and cheer. I remember too very clearly how I crumbled by my dad when we got home. We chatted very little… he just hugged me close and patted my back. I knew then that things had changed forever.

My dad and I got back into a rhythm of sorts. It took time for us to do this. Think he went along at my speed, which I think was tortoise like. We didn’t always join the wider family celebrations on Christmas Day. Mostly it was too painful for me to be where I was consistently reminded of my mum’s absence. However, I wanted to continue opening up our home to friends – and we did this, slowly but surely. I remember how friends came alongside me to help me with prep. I remember calming words spoken to me. I remember my dad telling me that as long as we remember the real reason for Christmas in our hearts, it was okay. We’d also continue our reflections. As he got older, my dad would sometimes excuse himself and go to bed, even while guests were around. He had started getting tired. Friends understood, of course. Long after he went off to bed, when our guests left, I’d go to his room and find him awake, waiting for me. We’d chat about how it all went, how it used to be, and why we celebrate Christmas.

This year, is my seventeenth Christmas without my mum and my first without my dad. It really hurt. It hurts to even think of the new year. I’m not ready to walk into 2024. It feels like I have to leave so much behind.

It’s been a very quiet Christmas and lead up to the new year. I’ve had family and friends dropping by and even staying over. I went to church on Christmas Day, with a cousin. We played with Gamora, had some food, and watched stuff on Netflix. It’s been lovely taking Gamora for walks. I’m trying my hand at gardening – with a handful of plants. I’m delighted when I see something sprouting, as I’ve been known to even kill cactuses. I’ve been trying to do some art. Nothing too fancy. I’ve been doing a whole load of things to keep busy. I miss my father and my mother so much right now.

Now we’re at the end of 2024. I don’t have the secret to slowing down time. Doubt there’s one. It hurts me that I’m going to be moving away from my parents in a way like never before. I had my dad for a long time. It’s not going to be the same without him. Not in the least.

There’s some unkindness around. People want me to move on and not cry. They tell me my parents would be upset by my sadness. I’ve been quite busy blocking contact with such ones. I know that my mum and dad would never want me to be sad but I know that they would understand better than others, why it is I’m sad. I know too that God understands this process.

Loss is something that God endured – in what was the most unnatural thing to an omnipotent being. I know there’s mercy. There’s been a lot of God’s grace coming through right now through understanding from family or friends that I’m not really up for parties or going out to busy places. There have been some really lovely visits with good conversation and even laughs. There have been phone calls and messages that have come at apt times. There’s little Gamora who turned one at the beginning of December, and who’s such a gorgeous pup with lots of joy and mischief. There’s the memory of my mum and dad, that at present reduces me to tears – but one that I truly love. There’s the Christmas message of reconciliation between God and man, and hope in a time to come. I weep at this now – its truth moves me, and it is what I must hold on to.

I am not excited about 2024. Yet, I do trust in God to go before me, and for Him to use the challenge I face in moving ahead with this grief to draw me closer to Him. I’m sure I won’t live up to most people’s expectations, but I’m okay with that. Thankfully, the experience from grieving mum has helped me be a better advocate for myself as I grieve dad as well now. I’m going to reflect on what I’ve lost through the lens of my faith, and do what I need to in 2024 that’s helpful and beneficial for this.