I'll Be Home For Christmas

In many ways, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.

I'm not immune to the magic of Christmas. To the way Princes Street gardens glows with the lights and bustle of the Christmas market that takes over what was once a reasonably large loch every year.
To the excitement of children as they wait for Santa to come. To the stress of hurried shoppers as they try and find the perfect gift for the perfect person.

For some of December, I embrace it.

I love the challenge of finding presents that perfectly relate to whoever I'm buying them for and I love seeing twinkling lights and fir trees everywhere.

But as it gets closer to Christmas Day, I tend to retreat into a little bubble of just me.
I need to be alone and left to my own devices as much as possible.

It wasn't always this way.

Growing up, Christmas was the most magical experience.
Nanny and I would put our Christmas tree up in either the hall or the front room (the front room had an amazing bay window that was the perfect place for our Christmas tree) and we'd spend a couple of hours together decorating it.

I stopped spending Christmas at my mum's, officially, when I was about ten years old.
Before that I'd alternate but, seeing as I'd moved in with nanny the year before, I decided to stay at home for each Christmas after that.

And I loved it.

We'd get up early, later as I got older, and we'd go through to the living room and I'd open my presents from Santa while nanny sat with a cup of tea on the couch. Our dog and later our cat, would often be at her feet.

A few hours later, mum and Jordana would come over with more presents and we'd open them, nanny collecting the wrapping paper to put into a bag as we did so.

After that, we'd have a Christmas dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, gravy, vegetables and stuffing.

When Jordana and mum had left, nanny and I would sit in our living room and watch Christmas TV with hot chocolates.

It was perfect.

Low key and quiet and ours.

When she died, my version of Christmas died with her.

That first Christmas, in 2016, I was so wrapped up in my own heartbreak that I don't even remember it.
The only bit I do remember is crying so much.
When asked about that time, my mum told me it was like I was 'in a trance' and I now compare it to the Adam Sandler film Click when he puts himself on autopilot to skip through parts of his life.
I was there but I don't remember it and I wasn't 'me'.

For Christmas 2017, I decided to take some control as there was no way I was letting myself spend another Christmas crying the whole time.
I booked flights to and from Spain and decided to spend it with my auntie.
It was an exciting holiday.
We got into a car crash (apparently, the Spanish aren't the best at driving in fog) and I spend most of my week there dealing with a headache but my auntie tried hard to make it Christmassy and we had a delicious yule log type thing for dessert.

It was less painful but it also just proved that distraction only works for a small amount of time.

In 2018, I was back at my mum's and it was nice.
We baked together, there was family drama and I got home for about eightish.

This Christmas, I feel odd.

I have a boyfriend for the first time ever (wow, I really sound like Bridget Jones right now...) who is away skiing in the French Alps so I can hide my pain from him, which is good.
I have incredible friends, less than last year but they're extremely important.
My relationship with my mother has never been better.
I'm jobless but I have opportunities coming up in the new year which are exciting.

In general, everything has changed and nothing is the same.

Except for my feelings about Christmas.

At a time of year when everyone is heading home for the holidays or going to spend time with family, I miss my home more than ever.

I can't go home. I can't curl up on my couch with nanny, our pets at our feet.

The family I grew up with no longer exists and while our homes are still there, someone else lives in them now, making memories of their own.

I know how depressing that sounds but it's true.

Nothing I've said isn't a fact.

When nanny died, my family died with her.

As much as I love mum and the small family I do have left, nothing will ever be me and nanny and our Christmas traditions.

What I did like this year was making some new ones.

My boyfriend and I made a Christmas dinner which included chicken (from my childhood) and prawn cocktail (something from his as he would be having a fancy dinner in the French Alps for Christmas).
We exchanged presents and had hot chocolate and I was extremely grateful for those memories.
I hope we can do the same next year.

But grief is a funny thing. It creeps up on you, even when you've been expecting it.

This year, I'm taking advantage of my lack of a job and enjoying my time alone.
If I can't be with nanny, I'd rather deal with my grief privately and in my own way.

Of course, I'll head over to mum's on Christmas Day and I'll be back before the Gavin and Stacey Christmas special.

But until then, instead of being wrapped up in family and traditions, I'll be relaxing on my own and acting as if Christmas isn't happening at all.

I know how depressing this sounds but it's just what Christmas has become for me and that's okay.

In a few years, I might have a fiancé or a husband or children to spend it with but for now I'm okay dealing with it in my own way.

Christmas is hard for so many people and this is my way of coping.

I hope anyone else missing a family member this season is okay.

I truly believe that one day, 'I'll be home for Christmas' will truly mean I'm going home and to somewhere I feel safe and happy and loved.

Grief and life changing events take time and I'm still young so I'm okay with waiting a little while.

Who knows where I'll be next year?

Hopefully, somewhere magical and a little less sad.

Jessica