They said this Christmas would be difficult.
And they weren’t far wrong.
It's odd to think you could dread a time
traditionally so full of warmth and happiness. But I was warned that Christmas
2013 was not going to be easy.
Last Christmas was when Diane first
complained of being unwell. She didn't manage to eat anything on Christmas Day and it was the
first time if we are honest that we suspected something wasn't quite right.
But there were so many bugs knocking about, we
convinced ourselves it was just one of those. Diane was determined to shrug it off. She'd feel
better in a few days, she insisted.
But it
wasn't a bug...
This Christmas, it all feels very
different. From making Diane feel too unwell to eat her Christmas dinner to
taking her from me took this evil disease of cancer just six weeks. I remember
sitting in the ante room on the hospital ward just minutes after her death
wondering what had just happened. A few weeks before we had been making plans
for the rest of 2013. Now she had been snatched away.
It made no sense.
And it still makes no sense.
I sit here, without her, sharing these
thoughts with you. All I can do is wish she was with me once again in person
rather than just filling my head 24/7. I wish I could see her across the room
and watch her be ... well, just watch her be Diane, I guess.
But I cannot and no matter how much I beg,
plead and beseech someone, anyone, somewhere, anywhere, to make it happen, I
know it won't.
Sometimes, as Diane used to say, the
answer to a prayer is "no".
Then it struck me. Or maybe she gave me
one of those digs in the ribs when I’m being a bit slow to catch on. I’m
not respecting her life and memory if I end up wasting what life is left to me by moping about.
That life can still be full of surprises (yes even more than me losing seven
stones and running a marathon). And she can still help me live it – we can
still make this journey together.
The future is nothing but surprises. No-one knows how what's next. But it can only happen, it can only surprise me, if I grasp every chance I get. Only if I believe in it. Only if I’m
positive.
There’s that word again. Positive. I love
it. It’s my favourite word right now. It transforms darkness into light. It means there’s
hope. You can achieve nothing by being negative but if you’re positive all
things are possible. Not all of them will come off, clearly, but all of them will, for a
short while at least, be possible. Everybody is capable of over-achieving if
they want to.
It is, for example, possible to grieve for
someone so dear as Diane and still carry a smile, still be optimistic and still
over-achieve.
And I’m determined not to let her down by
sitting alone at Christmas feeling sorry for myself. I can do nothing about the
past. I need to make sure that whatever I do from now on is done in honour of
her. If I think she’d be happy with what I’m doing and the way I’m doing it,
then I’m happy too and I go ahead – no need to seek approval from anyone but
her.
So I was determined Christmas 2013 wasn’t
going to fill me with dread. This wasn’t going to be a terrible time.
This year, I decided to “do” Christmas.
The decorations were up in record time,
I’ve tried some festive baking for the first time and I am determined to have a
good Christmas in the company of the wonderful people I’m lucky enough to call
my friends.
I even made it to the company Christmas
party on Friday for the first time in God knows how long and I had a blast. The incredible friends I shared it with made it a very special evening.
And I’m off to visit more pals – some Diane’s,
some mine – over the coming days. I will do my best to enjoy it all and I’m
sure I’ll create memories to carry with me forever.
Of course, there’ll be quiet moments when
I’m alone with Diane and a few tears will come. I’ll say what I have to say to
her in private. I'll close my eyes and in my mind I’ll kiss her gently on the cheek and wish her a
Merry Christmas from her adoring husband. That’s only to be expected. I miss
her beyond words and wish she was beside me in person again.
But I know that can’t happen.
That’s why my Christmas prayer is not for
her to be back, sitting opposite me in this room, sharing Christmas again with
me in person. I already know the answer to that is "no".
No, my Christmas prayer is to you.
To you who are lucky enough to have yet to
spend a family Christmas with someone as special as her missing.
So I pray you make the most of every precious
second you have this week and all year round with your family, closest friends
and neighbours.
I pray you promise from this day on never to be left wishing you had told them more often that you loved them.
I pray you decide to make sure you don't end up regretting that you
hadn't made the effort to do more together, see each other more often, spend
more time watching them be... well, just watch them be them.
And I pray the answer to this prayer is "yes".
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