Five years after our terrible loss, we’re going to celebrate Christmas again
SALLYANNE CLARKE ON HER FAMILY’S GRIEF
IUSED to love this time of year. The magic, the excitement, the little rituals, the presents — I even loved the endless preparations. For years I would have had the tree up and all the decorations done before the end of November, because as a restaurateur, December is our busiest time of the year. I would painstakingly buy, wrap and parcel all the gifts into beautifully presented bundles to go under the tree for my family and friends.
Christmas Eve was a particularly favourite time for me. When the children were young, I remember Derry and I rushing to get everything done in work so we could come home early to spend this very important evening with Sarah May and Andrew.
We would attend Midnight Mass in Saggart Parish at 9pm, where the choir made it so special.
Afterwards, we would all have steaming cups of tea, and sandwiches made with the glazed ham, still warm from the oven, served between big chunks of bread with plenty of cranberry sauce.
It was such a special time, as I would not have seen much of them in December. Myself and Derry used to tell them that Mum and Dad had to work extra hard to pay Santa Claus. It worked because they did not have a problem with us being in the restaurant every evening as a result!
Yes, I used to love this time of year. But
that was before we lost our angel, Andrew, on December 27, 2012.
Four Christmases have passed since our worlds were turned upside down and inside out. Four years since a tree has stood, twinkling and adorned, in our home. Four years, and no piles of carefully wrapped presents waiting for the family under the tree. Gifts bought would have been delivered before our annual Christmas escape.
YES, until this year, myself and Derry have escaped Christmas. Come December 23, we departed these shores on a Caribbean cruise. We never returned until the first week of January was over, and the last of the festivities had fizzled out.
For the past number of years, we’ve protected ourselves from the pain of Christmas by travelling to hot, sunny places, where it couldn’t be more different than home. We have even ensured that there’s no Christmas tree in our cabin berth at sea.
When you lose a child, your priorities change completely. Materialism goes out the window, and the pomp and ceremony that surrounds Christmas means little. If anything, because there’s such a family focus, it’s a particularly hard time of year for all those who have lost a loved one.
While everybody else is happy and full of festive spirit, our grief is compounded at this time of year, because it’s when we lost him.
This will be our fourth Christmas without Andrew, but this year marks a turning point in that there’s no more running away. And it’s all my mother’s doing.
At 85 years young, she’s still the boss, and as she continually tells us, her children, that we don’t know how much more time we have with her, she decided earlier this year that this Christmas was going to be different.
We were actually marking our darling Andrew’s 21st birthday, on March 26 last, having invited our family and friends, including many of Andrew’s, to our home. It was the first time we had guests for any reason since he died. It was a milestone occasion, and Mum decided that if we were able to do that, we can push ourselves out of our comfort zone a little more.
So she very kindly invited all my siblings and their respective families to our home for Christmas Day — 24 people in total. It means this year, there’s nowhere to hide, and we will have to be in full-on festive mode, as we have a number of young children coming who will be expecting all the magic that this time of year traditionally brings (including Santa!).
In the past, I loved everything about Christmas but especially Christmas Day, which would start with me, Derry, Sarah May and Andrew opening our gifts, before all our neighbours and friends arrived for drinks. Then we would have dinner. It was a ritual that was a highlight of my year, but not for a long time now. Right now, I’m finding it difficult. Yes, we have the space. Yes, Darling Derry is a wonderful chef and more than capable of preparing a sumptuous feast for us all, and yes, Mum’s insistence has meant that we have to confront our own demons. So ahead of December 25, for the first time in years, we mustered our strength and pulled the decorations down from the attic. To be honest, I had forgotten about half of them, apart from a couple that would have adorned the tree made by my two children years ago in school, which I now can’t find. I’m on a mission now, and have St Anthony on the job.
PUTTING up decorations is a ritual, and one I used to love. This time around, though, it was very upsetting. But as I thought of the eight children who are counting down the days until they come to our house, I dusted off the dancing Santas, reindeer and snowmen and got them ready to go. Children grow up so quickly, and before you know it, those special days are gone, so we have to try this year, especially for them.
Derry and myself chose a white Christmas tree from Dunnes this year. I didn’t want to put up the green tree like I used to. I wanted something very different. I did, however, buy wreaths for both our home and the restaurant and the pine smell is just so lovely when you open the door.
There are so many memories associated with our Christmas celebrations as a family, and they came to me as I decorated our tree this
This Christmas we are doing our best, making an effort so that our guests are happy. But there will always be that special person missing from our dinner table
week. I remembered Sarah May’s first bike, a pink one with a basket on the front. I remember putting together her Fisher Price toy kitchen. And of course there was the time Andrew got his Action Man motorbike when he was speeding up and down the hallway taking chunks out of the paintwork. I remember when he got his first remote-controlled car — he took it apart to make it go faster and ended up with lots of parts and asking where the Super Glue was.
I remembered how, once when Andrew was quiet, I went looking for him, and found him in the spare room opening all the carefully hidden presents, not at all impressed with the contents as he thought they were all for him!
Looking at my Christmas tree, sparkling with light, I start to think maybe my Mum is right. Perhaps it is time to stop running away. You never get over a loss, but you have to work around it to the best of your ability.
There will always be that special person missing as we unwrap presents, and more pointedly, missing from our dining room table. Andrew was funny, witty and charming and a great mimic. He was most entertaining and a great man to pick up on a funny comment and make us all cry with laughter, so we will all miss him.
Although we are apprehensive, we are putting our best feet forward and making that effort to make our guests happy.
We are making new memories, yet remembering all those who have gone before us with great love. We will go to Mass for Andrew and remember him in our own way.
This Christmas, spare a thought for all those who have lost loved ones, and for those who have loved ones who are ill or suffering in any way.
Can we reclaim Christmas and actually enjoy it again as a family? You can ask me in January. This year, we are all home for Christmas and that’s a pretty good start.