Christmas Wishes

For more than 50 years I have looked forward to Christmas Day and all the hope and joy it promises to deliver. 

As a parent, I worked myself into a frenzy trying to make the experience a treasure trove of memories for my children and those around us. I wanted them to have traditions - tree decorating, fruit cake, mince pies (homemade), Christmas punch, carols for 25 days straight, poorly made stockings-filled with love and undies. I wanted them to grow with the knowledge the day was more than just a present grab. I wanted them to appreciate the people in their lives, family and friends, and enjoy the gift of giving, not just receiving. I ached for them to have so much more than I did as a child. I yearned for them to experience joy, to know they were worth the effort. I dream in many small ways this was achieved, but I doubt I got it right all the time. But then, like Christmas, I am not perfect and in this imperfection, I hope they reflect on the positives, cut their mum some slack for the unnecessary stress, forgive her woeful sewing skills and grow from the experiences they have shared in their lifetimes. 

This year I am passing the festive baton onto my middle daughter, and her family, who have offered to take on the tradition of Christmas breakfast. I am delighted and saddened in the same heartbeat. I know I won't be able to roll out the festive feast in 22 days, but I wish I could do so. 

The smell of bacon cooking infused with coffee brewing, the mess of pancake batter splattering over the cooktops, muffins toasting to various degrees of crunch, the sticky fingers from cutting up fruit, and the endless cups of tea being prepared in a kitchen way too small to fit the extended family, along with the sounds of table setting and children helping, will be missing from our home and will be replaced with just us. There will be no strains of Christmas carols to make the kids groan and our annual song 'Christmas Shoes' will not be played; there won't be mounds of torn wrapping paper strewn across the floor, quickly collected by my eldest daughter, and neither of us will wear silly Santa hats. 

I expect by the time the morning of December 25 rolls around, I will be extremely grateful for the silence, to start the day slowly, to ensure Daryl can join us. I will be thankful for the opportunity to pack up the stockings and gifts and hopefully drive just a short distance away to join the chaos of our family Christmas tradition. Maybe we will wear silly hats, listen to the sounds of Christmas carols or they will be drowned out by the delightful din from excited grandchildren and grown-ups alike. Whatever the morning brings will be just right. I will, as I do every year, observe my family, through tearful eyes and a full heart, counting my blessings as they open their gifts, exchange hugs and words of appreciation. For us, it is an opportunity to bless our children and their partners (all 15 of them). But this year, no-one deserves some TLC more so, than my own husband and their father, step-father, grandfather - Daryl. 

Daryl has endured the horrors of intensive radiation and chemotherapy treatment for a cancer diagnosis that shattered our world some six months ago. This has been a period of our lives that we never anticipated, like many before us, and we have had to find our way, navigating a medical system and developing a whole new vocabulary. We have needed to live away from home to be near the hospital, away from the people in our world, away from our work, our business. We have had to adjust to a new normal even when this normal kept morphing and changing, leaving little room for complacency. We are not friends with this new normal, merely companions for the near future, until we might bid it goodbye.

In the weeks leading up to this Christmas we find ourselves re-evaluating everything we once believed, fought for, or considered relevant. In all this reflection, it is clear the priorities are not our material possessions but the people in our life, some near, some far. The ancient philosopher Epictetus wrote "The key is to keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best." He is correct.  We have been unable to change the circumstances we found ourselves in, but we could and have influenced the journey. Some days have been darker than others, but today, like every day we are yet to be gifted, we are choosing to embrace the positive, accept the reality and release anything we cannot change. 

Christmas will mark the beginning of the recovery phase for Daryl, a period of healing and rest, of waiting for the next instalment. We are blessed to be able to wait back at the farm surrounded by the familiar smells and sounds of home. It is nice to be in our environment and to be greeted by our four-legged freeloaders and our cackle of hens. To walk into our business, breathe in the scent and be soothed by the soulfulness of stories is like a dose of Daryl's magic pain potions, - it brings calmness and relief. Now the festive decorations are starting to go up, we are being modest this year, and for once I am ok with the theory of less-is-best.

Christmas it is not being cancelled at Rivergum the year, although it was considered, it will be merely changed. Like us, it will evolve into another form, fitting into the heart of our family, as it gathers together for the first time, in so long. 

However you spend this festive season and the days leading up to your celebrations I wish you many things, but most importantly I with you good health, good people and good luck (luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity - Seneca). 

Don't wait to do things you wish to do - do them now. There's never enough time, never enough money, nothing is perfect - that's ok. Do them anyway.

Until next time,

N