Finding hope at Christmas

Sarah’s finding hope at Christmas

It’s funny, I didn’t intend to get up today and put up the Christmas tree or decorate the front room. Nor did I imagine that I would then sit to write about it afterwards to share with you, our wonderful community, but it felt right to share this private moment with you. I wanted to show you all that you are making progress in small ways, even if you can’t see it.

My backstory, as you can imagine, is complicated and littered with anniversaries that no-one else can share with me. I imagine that yours is no less complex and no less littered than mine, and so we have that in common. And for that reason, I think we can agree that Christmas brings all of that backstory into sharp relief, as we see everything that we had wanted paraded before us on the telly, out at the shops and, most ghastly of it all, at family events. A shit show that you wouldn’t wish on anyone, but a gauntlet we have to run on an annual basis.

Anyway, as I was saying, last year I had just muddled through my one year hysterectomy anniversary. I felt nothing but numbness and humiliation when it came to Christmas. My Facebook status update confirmed I had put the decorations up and showed a bowl filled with chocolate coins and tree decorations that I couldn’t be arsed to hang.

People laughed at my apparent joke, but little did they realise that I had been crying as I dumped it all in a bowl. Defeated and humiliated again, as I fell out of love with Christmas, despite having adored it for many years.

Fast-forward a year and imagine my surprise when I found myself dragging the decorations out of the loft and sorting through them. That familiar smell of dust and 12 months staleness that you only get when you start sifting through the newspaper wrapped decorations. And how the tears rolled as I watched my cats getting excited at their arrival rather than a six year old little boy. The familiar dull ache in my chest, the familiar sting of tears and emotion that has stayed locked away for too long. And all the love that I have for that little boy, whose face I shall never see, or whose hand I’ll never hold.

And yet I knew as I decorated the tree and the house I felt another presence with me. It wasn’t just having the familiar voices from the podcast – sharing my pain and my grief, it was something else. It was the love I feel for my little boy that brought me to decorating this tree. But it was also hope. It was the realisation that no matter how painful I have found this experience, I couldn’t have done this last year or the year before.

I may not like Christmas to the extent that I once did and I doubt I ever will. There is just too much pain for me there, and I imagine you feel the same.

But, the fact that I have been able to decorate the tree and cry for my missing son is progress. Small progress, but I’m still taking it as a hard won achievement. And I think we need to take some time as a community to celebrate the small, and painfully won achievements that we make every day and every festive period. Because every single person in this community and you’re included in that are fucking amazing!

So, for those that struggle like me at this time of year, I want you to know you’ll be in my thoughts over the Christmas period. In fact, you’ll be in all of our thoughts, mine, Michael’s and Berenice’s. That’s why we’ll be making ourselves available over the whole of the Christmas period (time zones allowing...) to keep in touch with you all. Message us, we want to hear from you if you’re struggling and we’ll be there for you.

With best wishes

Sarah x