The Bittersweetness of Christmas

I've come to realise, over the years, that as difficult as Christmas may be for those who have lost a spouse or partner, it's not that easy for anyone, really. Even before Chris died, in our happiest days, there was always a bittersweet longing that came with Christmas. I think it is the time of year when we all long to be children again. For those of a us of a certain age, the world we knew, the Christmas we knew, so very long ago, was a simpler, more meaningful occasion. No one ever trampled over others for the latest or hottest toy. There was no such thing as Black Friday. The season leading up to Christmas was one of anticipation, creativity, and joy. Every year, we would make and decorate cookies to pass out to friends; every Christmas Eve, we would bundle into the car to go the Christmas Pageant at church and then spend the rest of the late afternoon/early evening visiting friends until the best time of all - arriving at the home of my parents' best friends (or them coming to our house) and spending the evening together. When I was eight years old, the classic "Charlie Brown Christmas" aired for the first time and it quickly became a family tradition. Even today, I wrap presents while listening to the Vince Guaraldi soundtrack to the animated feature. I shared this tradition with Chris, who loved the music. The piece called "Skating" always made Chris smile the widest smile. "Listen, you can hear the snow falling in the way the melody moves down the keyboard." We shared family customs and we shared all the childlike innocence of the season. We loved Christmas and loved our Christmases together.

I think that is why it can be so difficult. Even the happiest, most fulfilled people probably feel some sense of longing at Christmas. I know I did and still do. But being a widow makes it harder. Have you any idea of the high percentage of Christmas songs that feature missing a loved one at Christmas, looking forward to seeing a loved one, being with a loved one? It's emotionally exhausting. There are few songs that don't tug at my heart. And if I'm not immediately thinking of Chris, I'm thinking of my parents, or my parents' friends all of whom are no longer with us. I miss being a child at Christmas. I miss my own child being a child at Christmas. Thank goodness for my granddaughters, although with the older being 15, she is beginning to disengage from the whole wide-eyed wonder of Christmas. Thank goodness for the 7-year old!

So, here I am, on Christmas Eve eve, finishing up my wrapping and prepping for tomorrow when my family comes to spend Christmas Eve with me. And on Christmas Day, I am being joined by my dearest friends for dinner, drinks, and a movie. They will both be good days. But, alas, they will never be perfect because Chris isn't here. As I said the first Christmas after he died, without him, Christmas is 'tmas. But I will raise a glass of Buck's Fizz to him and hold him close as I go through the day, as I do every day. And I will miss him so very, very much, as I do every day. But somehow, at Christmas, it is just that little bit more because I am missing more than the love of my life, I am missing all that made Christmas special all those many, many years ago.

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Chris took this photo or wintry branch when we were living in the converted mill in Milton, near Tain, in Easter Ross. It was our first Christmas as residents of our beloved Highlands. Just living in the Highlands was a gift.