Those of you who've followed my blog for a while might remember that I love Christmas. I really do. And since I had cancer, I love it even more. Each one that comes round, I think to myself "This might not have been". This is the seventh Christmas since I had cancer, and I've felt it every year, but I don't think I've ever been brave enough to write it - at least not quite so plainly.
The odd thing is, you would imagine that such feelings would tow along anxiety, fears for the future, panic. And yes, those moments come too. I know I sometimes place an unhealthy load onto events, because the desire to create memories gets out of balance with the ability to live in the present. But mostly, "This might not have been" brings in its wake a warmth, a stillness, and a sense of depth.
Last Sunday, for example, we headed off to get our Christmas tree. We go to same farm, where there's an excruciatingly delicious farm shop and cafe. We've got our tree from there three years running now, so I think that counts as a family tradition. We headed out of the city (only a 15 minute drive, though - I can't tell you how much I love living in a small city...). Desert Island Discs was on the radio, and Kylie Minogue was the castaway. She talked a little about her experience of breast cancer, and one of her discs was a recording of her boyfriend reading a poem full of emotion, so I suppose I was primed. As we turned off the main road towards the farm, the view of the valley emerged before us, and was a picture of absolute beauty. Mist lay in the valley, but you could see dark shapes poking up through it - treetops, hedges, farm buildings. If you'd painted the scene, it would have been all greys and whites, and probably impossible to capture. It was winter at its most imaginative, and I think I gasped out loud. We'd left a dirty, damp, grey city, but when we got out of the car here in the countryside, the ground was frosty hard underfoot, and the air was crisp. A perfect Christmas moment. A moment that might not have been.
I tread carefully as I write this. Christmas is a time of painful memories, and thoughts of loss, for so many. There are plenty of blog posts out there to remind me of that. I've had my poignant Christmases too - my first as a mother, stuffing a stocking for a 7-month old baby who had no clue what we were doing, was also my first without my father, and there will no doubt be more to come. But in this chapter of life, each Christmas brings joy and peace and thanksgiving for all that is for me, that might not have been.
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