The Ghosts of Christmas Past

Words and images/ Lou Andrews

Someone once said that we grieve for ourselves not the ones we have lost...

This time of year is magical. A time where we all come together to celebrate and recognise what is important to us, but it can also bring forward sadness. The sadness of missing those who are no longer with us. It doesn’t matter what time of year your loved one passed, there’s something about Christmas that brings that memory to the forefront and it’s a real bittersweet pill. If we love, then grief is something that is inevitable for us all. We are aware of that from an early age and yet it’s still the most impactful thing that we will ever experience when it hits. Something that, no matter how we prepare, still knocks us to the ground like a wounded soldier. REFRAME is all about changing the way we choose to see things, and this subject is no different. How we experience grief is different for each one of us, simply because we are all different. It’s a very fluid matter, like an invisible thread that runs through us all and it changes based on our own personal relationship with that person and how they came to pass. 

There are so many variables in our experiences, all of which will change the way our minds digest that memory. Maybe it was due to long term illness, sudden death, suicide? All of these will alter our experience, but ultimately, it’s how we choose to see that time that matters. Someone once said that we grieve for ourselves, not the ones we have lost, and I guess I can understand that. We are sad because we miss them. There’s often guilt too. Things we said, things we didn’t say. We burden ourselves with all of these negative thoughts, but none of that is going to bring them back. That fact won’t change, so maybe what we should be doing is focussing on the positive ways that person impacted our lives and embracing those thoughts instead. We have to get to a place where we are at peace with our experience and that is why I have chosen to share my own personal story with you. I must admit, this one will be the toughest article I have written, simply because I don’t really talk about what happened. I mean, I do, but not in the sense that I relive those feelings associated with it. I want to share it with you in its rawest form, because it may help. We all have these painful truths and emotions that lie deeply buried like hidden treasure never to be found. But, like any treasure, they deserve to be seen for the beauty that they hold. This is my treasure…

For you to fully understand, I’m going to have to share some background with you. I lost my dad when I was 8 years old to cancer. He was 52 and it came as a shock. As a kid, my mum sheltered me from that experience by never really explaining what was going on. I know she did this to protect me, but it meant that my small mind didn’t have the time to process it. He was just gone. 

From that young age I took it as my job to step up. To look after my mum and protect her no matter what. The relationship that developed was one of dependence, but not on my part. In some ways I became the parent. I saw her as my child. She was now my responsibility. I had to make sure she was OK. 

It’s a very fluid matter, like an invisible thread that runs through us all and it changes based on our own personal relationship with that person and how they came to pass.

We were inseparable, she used to call me her shadow. We spent every moment together, and that’s how it remained until I was 16 and began to become my own person. You see, my mum had so many beautiful traits. She was kind and generous. She gave me all her time and would have given me the shirt off her back, but she was also controlling. She was very religious and was born in India during the 1930’s, so her past had some traumatic tales – ones that made me understand her in a way my siblings didn’t. She was a beautiful, fragile soul. A wounded little bird that I needed to hold gently in my hands. We went through difficult times when I transitioned into adulthood, because I guess in some ways she wanted to keep me forever. Just me and her. Her shadow. 

When I was 21 my mum disowned me for moving out with my friends! Yes, that’s how it started. Also, I happened to be gay – something I never felt able to tell her about, because I knew she would never understand or approve, as sad as that is. When I moved out, I took the opportunity to write to her, to tell her this because she had already disowned me, so it couldn’t get any worse. I had lost her anyway. As you can imagine, this wasn’t accepted too well, but at least everything was out in the open and I could be my true self. 

My mum didn’t have any contact with me for 5 years, and referred to me being gay as ‘the cancer that I had’. Brutal right? But, you just need to understand her, how her mind worked. I wasn’t going to give up. That was never an option. Maybe a trait I got from her? For those 5 years I truly felt like a part of me was missing and I still felt that responsibility to make sure she was OK. Every Christmas morning, I would set my alarm for 5am just to go and drop presents on her doorstep – the same thing on Mother’s Day and her birthday. Why? Because I couldn’t deal with her rejecting me if she saw me, but I wanted her to know she was still on my mind. I was still her shadow. I would always be there. 

In the fifth year I got a message from her. It was a few days before Christmas, and she invited me around! I had broken her down. Finally! She acted like nothing had happened, like no time had passed and that was fine with me. I was just thankful to have her back in my life. I remember asking her where she was spending Christmas day. She said she was going to her neighbours and in my mind, I felt bad, but she had already made plans and I thought ‘well, we have every Christmas day after this to spend together’. Sadly, I was wrong. 

I never got to spend another one with her. A few months after this my mum was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. At the time she was given weeks to live, but my mum was a stubborn little lady – she fought. 

She was always a fighter. She lived for many months more. I stopped working and moved in with her so that I could care for her with the help of my older siblings. 

Now, at this point you’re probably feeling sad or sorry for me, but please don’t. I can honestly say that I feel thankful that I had that time with her. It was an honour to look after her. We spent every one of those days talking about everything. Wonderful stories of her past, sad ones, memories she had, tales of my siblings when they were young. I made the most of everyday I had with her and that’s how I choose to see it. I was lucky. 

Now, at this point you’re probably feeling sad or sorry for me, but please don’t. I can honestly say that I feel thankful that I had that time with her. It was an honour to look after her.

And the best thing was that my mum passed away accepting me for who I was. Completely. She came to understand that just because I was gay, didn’t make me a different person. I was always going to be there for her no matter what. That was a beautiful thing. At one point she even talked about her buying two flats, one above the other, and she said she could live in the bottom one and I would live in the top one. That way, I could look after her and she didn’t need to know what was going on upstairs! Funny! But that was her way of showing acceptance. 

It was my birthday the month before she passed, and she bought me a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. It was engraved with the words of her favourite religious tale, Footprints. If you aren’t familiar with it, look it up as it holds so much meaning. It read ‘When you saw only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you’. It couldn’t have been more fitting. That gift is now one of my most treasured possessions. 

My mum passed away on Christmas eve. All of us five siblings had lived in the hospice for two weeks leading up to that point, just to be with her every minute. On the day of the funeral, I helped carry her coffin. I saw that as my job. It was my responsibility to carry her to her last place, just as I had always done. Yes, there is deep sadness in me and there always will be for any of us that have lost someone, but from that sadness glows an ember of respect and honour. I am honoured to have had her as a mum and those good times and the bad have made me who I am. Without her, none of what I have would be possible. You see, we never really lose those that have passed. They live within us. The things they taught us, sayings they had, the memories we shared with them, the laughter, the tears. That invisible thread binds us all. Echoes of them are in our kids, our siblings, the energy around us on this earth. All made possible by those that walked before. The true heroes of Christmas past. 

Sometimes when my little girl is asleep, I catch a glimpse of my mum in her, that ember. And I hold her close. When my son gives me one of his teddys and shows me that true kindness is his heart, I see her. Christmas reminds me of all the things that are truly important. Our loved ones. Family, friends, partners. So, hold them close and make the most of every moment. 

Sharing a laugh with your mate, reading bedtime stories to your kid, a hug from your mum. These are the things that really matter.

Truth is none of us know how long we have on this earth, but that’s kind of the point isn’t it? To make the most of every minute we do have as if it’s the last. And I don’t mean going on elaborate holidays, fine dining or getting that new smart phone you wanted. No, I mean everything. Sharing a laugh with your mate, reading bedtime stories to your kid, a hug from your mum. These are the things that really matter. To see the wonder in the simple things and hold them close and to celebrate those who we no longer have, because that’s what life is truly about. I know it hurts, but please dig deeper than that. Dig out the memories of them that make you smile, because those are the ones we should hold on to. The things they gave us, how they made us who we are. 

Celebrate the good and not the negative and really sit with those thoughts, because I think that’s what grief should be. I will be raising a glass of my mum’s favourite port this Christmas and lighting a candle in her name. May she forever burn bright in my heart…and she will. 

Lou x