Christmas is Coming

Day 1541.

For the past 4 Christmases we have avoided being just us… I still can’t write that number.

We have travelled to be with family and friends .

The first Christmas my sister said “Come and ruin our Christmas instead of someone else’s”. The love and generosity of this offer still warms my heart. She added; “I’ll bring Ludo - he can be your emotional support dog”. And he was. And he still is.
We continued to hide within the Christmases of others, rather than attempt our own and last year we were at home for the first time, with the glorious addition of the emotional genius of my Godson and his husband.

This year, because of the Pandemic we are trapped, as so many are, in loss or not, with facing ourselves. My heart goes out to those whose grief is still fresh and raw and do not have the luxury of escape.

In the years before Luke died, we had the tradition of a large Christmas Eve party, complete with a real live Santa on the roof handing down gifts …yep, Santa has an English accent! Christmas Day would be lunch somewhere lovely and then to the movies! Just us. Often Boxing Day would bring a repeat. It was our Christmas ritual.

Rituals are important, but none of this can be done.

No Advent in London, no cinema, no restaurants, no gatherings. Even ‘just us’ is different.
There’s no path to follow as we walk uncharted territory building our own new version of Christmas rituals without Luke.

“Should we get a Christmas tree?” Adam asks gingerly.
This is the man who, before all this, would always joyously buy the biggest tree possible and later when we lived in the country would disappear in our vintage Land Rover with the boys and return victorious with a massive grin, freshly chopped tree atop, and the boys hanging off the tail gate, laughing and wielding axes.

We plan softly softly, mindful of each other’s hearts.

Yesterday, George and I bravely advanced, stuffed a massive tree in my convertible, dug out the decorations and together, decked the tree, and the mantle piece, the kitchen island … and by the time Adam got home, we had made a beautiful Christmas in our home.

I was worried that Adam would be sad to not have been a part of it. But instead he was grateful and happy as he drifted into a tree lit sleep by the fire.

As we move through the next few days it will be a cautious navigation and I am sure there will be tears. Of course, why would there not be?

This won’t be a Happy Christmas.
But it will be a Christmas.