A Christmas hello

A small list of (I hope) comfort...

How is everyone?

I don’t know how you’re feeling. What you’re doing. Who you’re thinking of.

What I do know is…

I know that grief is complex, that it displays itself in wild, erratic ways that no one can predict.

I know that grief can come not just from what you have lost… but also from what you do not have.

I know that it can catch you, as you laugh, paper-crown on your head and hiss “what right do you have, for fun?”

I know that you can have fun. It doesn’t mean you loved them any less.

I know that emotions can change with the flashing of fairy-lights, one colour to another.

I know that grief can make you explode with anger. Anger that can whirlwind through you, at the pettiest of things.

I know that your rage is simply directed at the wrong type of potatoes, the broken tin opener, the relative with the irritating voice… That it’s something else. Something deeper. Buried so far down you can’t grasp it.

I know that’s OK. If you snap, people will forgive you. You also must forgive yourself.

I know that you don’t have to release that deep buried thing. Not yet. It will come… with time.

I know that the gentle silence of Christmas can feel hollow.

I know that you may feel nothing at all. That you will turn your head this way, then that way. Strangely detached. You’ll unwrap presents with a smile, hold your fork and stab your potatoes and pretend that you’re a real person, feeling real things.

I know that you’ll fool some. But not others.

I know you may be alone.

I know that you may be watching social media of others’ days. Seeing their big, rich, loving families crowded around a dinner table. Wishing that was you, feeling as if everyone was gifted happiness this year and somehow your name was missed off the list.

I know we only see 5% of people’s lives.

I know that you might feel guilty for not struggling at all.

I know that you shouldn’t. Grief is like a fingerprint. How and when you feel it differs, always, from the next person.

I know that there’s someone who will listen to you. Accept you for who you are, your darkest thoughts. I know that person might be a stranger.

I know that Christmas is just one day.

I know that doesn’t make it any the less hard.

I know that joy can feel like something that you had a good run with, something that will never come again.

I know that it will.