A Christmas without Carol

Her father named her Carol because she was born on 12 December.  Her favourite Christmas song was the Little Drummer Boy, which she liked to remind people was originally called the Carol of the Drum, and which she would sing at every opportunity.  She loved to sing, even though she couldn’t carry a note, and she would belt out the little drummer boy all through December.

Our finest gifts we bring (pa-rum pum pum pum)

To lay before the King (pa-rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum).

She was a hopeless singer, and couldn’t carry a tune for a penny, but she enjoyed singing along to all the Christmas melodies.  I remember the year we got a record player for Christmas, and she sang along to Elvis’s Blue Christmas for most of the evening.  Dad tried to get his new Christmas album on the play list, but my mother insisted we had Elvis on repeat.

We remember the dead at Christmas and on their birthdays, don’t we?

This will be my third Christmas without my late mother, but the funny thing about grief, is how much it changes.  Sometimes my grief is painful, sometimes it brings kind memories, sometimes I’m indifferent to it.  I think of the colours of grief as varied as a rainbow, with unimaginable textures, and indescribable variants.  Sometimes her death still feels incomprehensible, and at other times, like she was almost never a living person.

Some people light candles.

I think of mam when I run in Pheonix Park, or when I swim in the sea, or when I go up a mountain. There’s one tree in Pheonix Park that I nod at, when I jog past.  She seems to be there.

She was born on 12 December and her father named her Carol.

Shall I play for you (pa-rum pum pum pum)

On my drum.

I thought of all the Covid grievers this week, as another Tory resigned over lying.

One shouldn’t anthropomorphise Tories, but when you see them cry for the cameras it’s very hard not to laugh.  Of course, they’re not actually crying, as you or I would cry.  They are performing in public, to keep whatever power and privileges they have.  That said, this new leaked video was different because I think that’s the first time we’ve watched them practising their lies. 

That was new.

Maybe this is the end of Johnson? 

Maybe the mourners and the grievers of all the Covid victims feel like his lies and condescending lack of action is tantamount to complicity in their deaths.  That’s an awful lot of grievers, and an awful lot of voters.  Wouldn’t that be a fine gift for Christmas?

Remember in June 2020, when the daily case numbers and deaths from Covid were in single figures and sometimes 0?  Eight more weeks of restrictions then, might have eradicated the virus from the planet, forever.  Sadly, we decided to open the shops and restaurants instead.  People sometimes say, “we just have to get on with living with covid”. 

Well…

This is what living with Covid feels like. 

Masks, hand hygiene, social distancing, annual boosters, vaccine passports, sporadic new measurements as variants emerge, postponed and cancelled plans.  This is what we chose.

This is my last blog for 2021.

Thank you for reading, for encouraging me, for saying nice things about how my writing is improving, and for commenting that my writing sometimes makes you smile.

What I’ve learned about living in a pandemic is what I knew all along.

Nothing happens in a vacuum, and we’re all connected.  Many people are selfish to their core, and only value money and power.  Others are as beautiful as ancient trees, and it’s those I shelter close to.  My grief for my mother is invariably connected to Christmas, her birthday, and I am invisibly connected to all other grievers; even those I do not know. 

Love, forgiveness, and kindness. That’s it, really, isn’t it? 

So, for this Christmas, I wish you radical gifts. 

I wish that you are forgiven and that you can forgive others.  I wish that you can give and receive kindness and love.  May this Christmas bring you real peace, ease, and rest. 

If you grieve, may you grieve well. 

Hibernate this season and cover yourself in the memories of brightness and the warmth of love.  May you have peace not only in your heart, but in your gut. May you have a pure quietness of the mind.

I love you. 

Thank you. 

Stay safe. 

Then he smiled at me (pa-rum pum pum pum)

Me and my drum.