Christmas Day

The dogs have stopped quarrelling and lain down. Some are in front of the fire, others have their heads tucked into the laps of dozing members of P’s family. There is chatter in the kitchen and Christmas lunch to come.

Outside the Sun has begun to shine and the ice is thawing. My phone is in my hands and on the screen is a text from my sister, H, to say that the doctors consider there is nothing more to be done for my father. Their aim now is to make him comfortable and wait for the inevitable. I wonder how someone so proud, so fierce, can die.

Aberdeen is a grey place; the Granite City. It is stolid and, on Christmas morning, silent. Silence has a double nature. It can be an angry refusal to communicate, lips pressed shut. Or it can be quietness, stillness and peace. Kneeling in Church this morning, I find, quite to my surprise, that it is the latter that I wish you Dad.

9 thoughts on “Christmas Day”

  1. S – mine’s in a similar position to yours. Unfortunately 40 years of angst doesn’t go away at the stroke of a diagnosis……but maybe you’re a better catholic than me. Hazel

  2. It takes a lot of courage to admit that you love someone who has hurt you so deeply. But courage is something you’ve always had in spades.

    You are in my thoughts and prayers – but you always are – and you know that! 🙂

    ((hug))

    Happiest of New Years for you and P.

  3. Thanks for your kind comments and thanks especially to those of you who have reminded me that this isn’t necessarily going to be easy.

  4. I’m so sorry. I know your feelings are mixed but in the end he was still your Dad, even though he was crap at it.

    x

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