Christmas without my Dad

Every Christmas up until the age of 16 was just the best. Each year my family would follow a similar pattern of events and traditions that occupied us for weeks during the lead up to Christmas and New year. When I think back to Christmas, I think of togetherness; playing, singing, walking, talking, eating and laughing together.

My Dad, Mum, two sisters and I would be joined at the hip. It would start early, getting a tree from a local farmer in the village. We would energetically decorate the tree, looking back quite dreadfully, but we thought it was great. The more tinsel, baubles and twinkly lights the better, despite the lights not really working. It stood proudly in the bay window of our house for the street to see and we were as proud as punch.

We would spend the lead-up to Christmas with family and friends, getting involved in local events in the village and most importantly prepping for Father Christmas’s arrival. On Christmas Eve we would always write our letters to Santa and throw them into the fire to blow up into the chimney. I can only say we were told this was what we were supposed to do! We would carefully lay out the mince pies and brandy for Santa and leave the reindeer a carrot before settling down for the night.

We would surface far too early in the morning (poor Mum & Dad), grab the filled stockings left at the end of the bed and head into our parent's room to rip open what had been left for us. We still have and use our stockings today, a lovely tradition that has been carried on into adulthood. At the bottom of the stocking we would always have an apple and an orange, to this day I still don’t know why, but this tradition has continued on. Admittedly, at the age of 33 I still receive my apple and orange.

With our presents open, it was over to Mum and Dad to open theirs; a few treats they had bought each other and stuffed into a couple of old socks! This still makes me laugh today at the thought of my parents’ opening presents from an old sports sock!

The memories of Christmas as a child are endless, from watching Wallace and Gromit, and Father Christmas to making sure we caught the end of the Queen's speech as the turkey sandwiches and pork pies were being demolished.

The Christmas period could not have been more perfect, filled with happiness and laughter. But this all changed when I was 16 years old, and my Dad sadly passed away very suddenly. How would we cope? Christmas would never be the same again. What would we do? How would we do it without him? This will be the 17th Christmas without my Dad, yet it still brings a tear to my eye as I write this.

The first one came and went. It was a blur, but it happened. My Mum, sisters and I carried on as normal as possible and spent the day with our Grandparents, which we’d done for several years previously. We all got through it together. On the surface we were all present, but deep down all battling an array of emotions and sadness.

As the years went by, I wouldn’t say it got easier, in fact I would say the emotions changed. Initially, I felt angry that he wasn’t here, it was unfair. Then came guilt. I had no right to be happy or feel joy. Following this I felt an overwhelming sense of protection to look after my family. I felt responsible, as though I shouldn’t be feeling sad or upset as “the man of the house” now. I needed to stay strong for my mum and two sisters. I told myself I shouldn’t be away from home and I put pressure on myself to have to be around, which in turn probably led me to be quite distant….ironically.

People often say that time is the healer, that time helps with the process. I believe time allows people to become stronger. It allows for acceptance. And whilst it never fully heals, time allows you to learn to grow with the loss.

Fortunately, we continue many of our traditions today, just like we did when Dad was around. We still have our stockings and open them together, we still have his angel that goes at the top of the tree, and we still watch the same shows we watched when we were little. His legacy has carried on and we have found ways to acknowledge him at Christmas time, without causing too much pain. 

On Christmas Day, we always raise a glass to those that are not with us. We walk to visit his tree in the arboretum in the village and I take time to cry and talk to him to tell him I’m thinking of him, wishing he was still here. In some respect, we are creating new traditions despite him not being here. And our new traditions still happen to involve him!

Finding ways to remember loved ones, finding places to go, and talking about that person rather than avoiding it, has really helped. Family, friends and surrounding myself with the incredible trustees at ‘It’s Time’ has enabled me to channel my grief in positive ways. 

People can help you get through the pain, you just have to be strong enough to let them. Embrace the memories you have and let them live on. Don’t start doing things dramatically different, if you don’t want to. I talk to my Dad every day in my head or even out loud. It intensifies at Christmas whilst he helps me through it and allows me to enjoy myself with family and friends.

There’s no denying that dealing with grief at Christmas is difficult. But acknowledge how you feel and don’t put pressure on yourself to chase after those things you can't control. Stay close to those you love being around and find what works for you to enjoy the Christmas period.

Thinking of all those who have lost a special parent this Christmas.