The Year Christmas Became Bitter Sweet

Christmas is looming, and with it comes a mix of emotions.

Last year, we had no Dad.
And this year,  although she is still here in body, we have, in many ways, no Mum either.

She’s so far removed from the mother I knew that sometimes I find it hard to remember what she was really like. But I do know she was completely extraordinary at Christmas. If there is anyone that can pull Christmas off in spectacular style it was my Mum. 

Every family has their “thing,” I suppose, and ours was always Christmas.

Even as fully grown adults with children of our own, Laura and I loved going home for it — and so did all the kids. The house was always filled with greenery, Father Christmas arrived on a tractor, the log burner scented every room, and there was far too much food, wine, and gifting. There was a level of warmth that made everything feel magical. Both my mum and dad went gloriously over the top and planned it for weeks, as if all their love and excitement were poured into that one day. It was mad, chaotic, and completely wonderful.

Those memories are so precious. And this year, they are painful too.

Because just like that, in what feels like the blink of an eye, we are a whole generation down. We have inherited ghosts of Christmas past.

But here’s what I’ve learned through the work we do, work that has thankfully given me emotional understanding.

There is a part of me that grieves.
A part that longs for those noisy, warm, ridiculous Christmases.
A part that aches with the wanting of what used to be.

A longing that feels heavy enough to take me out if I let it.

But it is just that a part of me. It is not all of me.

I don’t ignore the part. I don’t push her away or try to “positive-think” my way past her. I let her speak. I let her remember. I let her be sad. She cries for what she has lost. She needs that space.

And yet… I can now see so clearly that she isn’t the only part.

There are other parts too.

A part of me that wants a joyful Christmas.
A part filled with hope and excitement.
A part that looks forward to what future Christmases will hold, a son returning from university, new ways of celebrating, time with friends, a new year to look forward to.

All of those parts matter.
All of them deserve recognition.
All of them belong.

My mum and dad would hate the idea of me being swallowed whole by the sadness. So instead, I carry that grieving part gently, close to my heart, while also allowing all the colourful other parts to move forward, to imagine, to create something new.

Grief is not the opposite of joy.
They can coexist.
And this Christmas, they will.

Wherever you are emotionally this season, we hope you can honour all the parts of you too.

Wishing you much love and a Merry Christmas.