I had just went to see my mum in Rowcroft Hospice. There had been such a clinical smell in the air, though the room had been made to look homely. The gentle noise of hushed voices from different rooms floated through the air, the faint tapping of steps, my own breath through my single-use medical mask. I had held her hand in mine. It had been so cold. Looking at her, the image of my mum was fading. The cancer had changed her, she had lost so much weight, her skin had a yellow tinge, her eyes were closed as she didn't have the energy to open them. Seeing her like that broke me. My grandad took me home. As we walked through the door, his phone range and my heart dropped. All conversation that had been going on in the living room seized. You could cut the air with a knife it was that tense.
"She's gone."
'Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!' 'Tis the season to be jolly' The phrases we hear constantly this year, out in public, at work, through cards. But sometimes Christmas isn't all 'merry and bright' or 'filled with joy'. Christmas can be a very bitter sweet time of year, especially after losing a loved one.
Christmas is traditionally a time where families come together to reminisce on all the good things of the year, a day full of smiles and laughter (and maybe a grandparent who has drunk a little too much!). For many, however, it can be one of the most difficult days of the year. When you lose a loved one who you're close to, Christmas can feel empty and cold where even the warmth of a fire can't get rid of the chill in your bones, a day full of grief and sorrow. December 6th marks the beginning of National Grief Awareness Week, highlighting how important it is to be surrounded with support at this time of year.
March 2020, my Mum was diagnosed with Cancer. We knew that would be her last Christmas, leaving Christmas 2020 with a bitter taste in our mouths, the dark thoughts always at the back of our brains with every smile and laugh. It was the elephant in the room. Exactly a year after she was diagnosed, she passed away March 31st 2021 in Rowcroft Hospice at the age of 46. From that second, I began to dread the idea of Christmas.
The year ticked forward, summer had come and gone and once again, it was Christmas. One of the most painful moments for me was when I was looking for cards. Christmas songs were playing over the speaker in the shop, a bustle of noise as people search for the right card, the chill in the air managing to seep through my layers giving me a faint shiver as I reach with my gloved hands across the rows of cards, my hand gravitating to the 'to a special Mum at Christmas' cards. A lump was in my throat as I slowly pulled away, the hole opening up in my heart as I turned to walk away, deciding it was a task for another day. Even the mundane task of picking the cards for my family was difficult as it was a constant reminder of what I was missing.
Talk of everyone being excited to go home for Christmas created a feeling of isolation for me. I couldn't bring myself to look forward to it, just the constant 'this is the first Christmas without her' in my head. I would dodge questions relating to family, what my plans were as I was putting it off, thinking about the missing face that wouldn't be there this year. The face that had been there every year from the time I was adopted. There wasn't a day in December where the loss wasn't on my mind. I decided Christmas Eve to Boxing Day was more than enough time; I just couldn't bring myself to face being in the house.
The morning of Christmas, there was a heaviness in my heart as I woke up. A sense of dread washed over me as I got up, heaviness in my arms as I brushed my teeth, the lump back in my throat. But I had to smile, for my family, for my brother. I had to be strong, try and be the brightness the day needed. In a way, I had taken the place of my Mum for the day, trying to make my brother smile and laugh, keeping his mind off the subject.
"I think in my mind I will just treat it like another day, if that's possible, that way I might get through." - Quote from Sue Ryder online community
It properly hit me when we went down to my grandads. My mind flashed back to 2016 - the last year we had with my Nan and Aunt for Christmas there, and the emptiness seemed to grow even more as it felt like, as the years went on, there were less faces around the table. The moment I walked into the kitchen to see my Grandad and wish him a Merry Christmas, my heart sank as I saw the pain in his eyes. I could see just how hard this year was for him. As I hugged him, I felt his shoulders shaking as he let the tears fall, blinking my own back and swallowing that lump in my front, the build up of my own emotions creeping up in my heart. Apologies came from him, saying he should be strong, to which I shook my head, telling him he had every right to be upset and cry. Tears were wiped away and we carried on, sorting out the cards and dinner, sitting round the table.
I could barely eat, picking at my food as I kept the emotions back as none of us brought the subject up. It was the elephant in the room, on all our minds with the subdued chatter at the table. After dinner, it hit me. Turning to my dad, I asked him to take me home as I just needed to be in my own space. My grandad asked me if I was okay and the tears started, unable to stop. The emotions I tried to ignore just built up and exploded out of me. There was a sense of guilt, knowing it was meant to be a happy occasion but it was too much. I just wanted the day to be over. The bitter-sweetness of being with family but having members missing was horrible. I was grateful to be with the ones I loved the most but also just wanted it to be over as it was so painful. Even a year on, I still have the sense of dread facing the holiday season.
"Once you've lost a parent, every good moment is tinged with sadness; every celebration is something they're not here for. It makes your more eager to spend Christmas together, but reduces the importance of gifts or decorations as these feel trivial in comparison." -Fleurine Tideman, 25
There's importance in the idea of celebration still at this time of year, remembering the good memories as well as looking back at those who you miss, bringing a positive spin on it. Of course, this is something that comes with time. Grief charities work hard around Christmas to provide support to those who are struggling. If you or someone you love are struggling, seek support as you're not alone.
Charities to reach out to:
Cruse Bereavement Support: Call 0808 808 1677, or online chat via their website
Sue Ryder: Online counselling available
Young Minds: Text YM to 85258 for free support, any time of the day.
By Chloe Hall
Комментарии