That festive time of year again, the tree is up and though I’m not a fan of the season, I do like rediscovering my decorations as I dress the tree and house. Unwrapping the collection of trinkets collected over the years.
All the joyfulness and everyone playing happy families, just feel alien to me as I never had that growing up. I know that if you scratch beneath the surface of other people’s so called happy families, things aren’t quite as happy as they appear. Social media has a lot to answer for regarding this.
My dad sadly passed away 2 weeks before Christmas when I was 10, I remember the time vividly. I was at the school’s Christmas disco and my mum and aunt came to collect us and told us that our Dad had died. My headteacher saying “he was with the angels now” I remember thinking at the time what a stupid thing to say. I was 10 years old not stupid. My aunt gave me and my brother a Bic 4 colour changing pen, it was quite cool, 4 different colours available at a push of a button. The intention was there but again I remember thinking that doesn’t quite compensate for the loss of my Dad. Your dad is dead have a pen.
Time is suppose to be a great healer, but as I age I disagree. It brings lost of memory, I can’t remember what he sounded like, how it felt to be cuddled by him, a lack of photos means I struggle to picture him. A loss of milestones, he never saw how I turned out, my achievements in life. It makes me feel sad and a bit lost. It is 36 years this weekend and that seems to have gone by in a flash.
This time of year heightened my other loss of milestones in not being able to have children. My cousin who is also infertile asked me “how do you come to terms with it” I replied unfortunately you don’t. That is the sad truth, counselling helps but it is never going to magically make my body have a baby. As I head towards the menopause, I curse my body for not working how I wanted it to, as each year passes knowing that I am barren just makes me incredibly sad. I can’t help it but just re reading that back makes my eyes prick. As a woman what is my purpose in life? It is a selfish thought but I have no one to carry on ME. When I am dead who is going to remember me, keep the memory of me alive. Maybe it is a vain thought? Maybe when I am gone my 2 stepsons will relay stories of their crazy stepmum to their children? I hope so.