Christmas that is so, if you’re big fan and don’t want to be bah humbugged look away now……..
The thing is, I’ve never really been a big fan to be honest. I don’t like Christmas Carols (except Oh Holy Night but that makes me cry), I’m not a big foodie so Christmas dinner is a bit lost on me, Christmas films are invariably nauseatingly saccharin and it seems to be 3 weeks of crazy for one day. Saying all that, I always made the effort because I know that other people love it; my husband was a huge fan and used to love cooking the dinner, paper hat atop his head and a glass of something in his hand.
Of course, he’s not here now. I don’t have to think about finding him the perfect present, something that will make his eyes light up and make him want to hug me tight and kiss me. I don’t have to think about buying a little something for my two cats because I lost them too. I don’t need to worry about buying presents for my parents because we decided to give the money to the hospice where he died instead.
He won’t wake me up at the crack of dawn Christmas morning, running around like a big kid and trying to find his apron so he can get on with food preparation. He won’t nag me about doing the washing up (he cooked after all), we won’t argue about what film to watch, he won’t fall asleep in front of the TV, having drunk too much at lunchtime. He won’t be asking for turkey sandwiches or another sweet or trying to convince me that it won’t hurt if he has a third mince pie. He won’t be giving me a present that I know damn well he bought at the last minute but, all the same, put so much thought into.
We won’t stay up late, hugging on the sofa, watching rubbish and scoffing chocolates. We won’t be going to bed together tired but happy and we won’t fall asleep in each others arms, each of us knowing that we are loved.
Instead I have the offer of going to Rome with my best friend as I did last year and the year before. I would spend Christmas and New Year with his friends and family who are all incredibly lovely and make so much effort……I’m dreading it. Everyone makes me feel welcome, they’re Italian so they try and feed me every five minutes and when I’m not being fed, someone is hugging me or telling me something I can’t understand…..I’m dreading it. I would probably laugh, drink too much, have far too many late nights and be drowned in a cacophony of endless chatter. During the day I’ll be with good friends, explore Rome, take motorbike rides though the beautiful countryside outside the city, take photos, drink the mind-blowingly strong coffee and eat cake….
And feel totally separate from all of it and more alone and more trapped than I feel at any other time of the year. You can’t escape from the jollity at Christmas and, if you’ve lost your husband, wife or partner, you can fully participate in it either because the best part of Christmas is sharing it with someone you love……..
I’m sorry that this is such a dismal, feeling sorry for myself post but this is the worst year yet for me and it will be the fifth without my husband; I don’t understand why it doesn’t get any easier……
Lisa x
He gave me the sort of look usually reserved for young children trying to shove peas up their nose and launched into an explanation of the countless options that were available to me.
There was no discussion. I think he’d realised that it was futile by this point so he set about doing terribly creative things with several different pairs of scissors. However, he did tell me that he’d spent 15 years working in a salon in Paris, the style capital of the World. I was somewhat comforted by this revelation but still found myself gripping the arms of the chair very hard; I think you could probably see the nail marks if you looked hard enough.
Resigning myself to living on baguettes and cheese for the next couple of weeks I handed over my card and made another appointment for 6 weeks time. I sincerely hope that I will remember this experience and have no need to gird my loins in the future……….I probably won’t.
They are either glossy magazines full of young model types looking beautifully vacant and slightly depressed or they are chocked full of equally stunning women with amazing hairstyles. I should have learned over the years to politely decline the magazines, along with the coffee, but I haven’t so I look at the lovely pictures.
No amount of 
Why oh why did they give me those bloody magazines? Why did I read them? I wouldn’t have had ridiculous expectations of a life-changing new style if I’d been reading Harry Potter (unless it was the bit where Hermione has discovered Sleakeazy’s hair potion). Oh well, I’ve got no-one to blame but myself……and all those gorgeous bloody young women with their stupid, shiny, perfect hair!