I sat by the Christmas tree that I had just decorated for a friend and his daughter. the lights were spectacular and mesmerising. I admired my own creation, and thougtht to myself how creative and beautiful I made the tree. My friend sat for a while and thanked me repeatedly for surprising his daughter with the spirit of Christmas.
I was pleased to help give them something special to celebrate and remember by, for it will be the girl's first Christmas in Canada, and most of all, first Christmas away from her mum. I wanted to give her a reason to smile and give her a greater sense of belonging here, for I can only imagine what she must be feeling now being away from her mother for the first time in her life.
The tree and decorations were given to me by the ex. But I felt someone else could make much better use of the tree. And seeing my friend and his daughter happy made me smile and glad I did something grand. Christmas (In fact, most of December to January, the ending of a year and beginning of a new one..) is for me a muted event. It has been for years, perhaps beginning with the year mum left me to live alone with my brother. I was fourteen. When I was thirteen, it was the one and only time we had a Christmas tree, a real one that filled the living room with the sweetness of pine. Dad had sent over boxes of decorations abd lights from clients of his to beautify the tree. It was a magical year... One I can harldy remember now...
.the most recent memory of Christmas was an awkward dinner with friends, and the sudden call from my cousub saying num had been admitted to hospital for emergency surgery. The Christmas of 2011 will forever be etched as one of the darkest of my life to date. It was the Christmas to mark the end of everything I knew was familiar and beautiful. It was the Christmas that marked the beginning of the end of my dear mother and the bond I had with her.
I sat by the tree and these thoughts crossed my mind. Earlier, as I searched the cupboard for the tree and decorations, I came across a box. A box like one from the post office in my home country. And on it, the distinguished handwritting and signature of my mother. She sent the box to me in the Autumn of 2011. A little package from her filled with goodies like my favourite plums and moon cakes. Earlier that summer she visited me in canada and met my friends and colleagues. She was touched by the way I have been cared for, and the moon cakes and assorted pastries was her way of thanking these friends that at the time surrounded me and were such frequent visitors to my home.
The box is empty now, but her pen marks abd signature remains. The box is empty now, and the emptiness reflects much of my emotions deep inside. I have so much I want to empty from deep within, but no one who can really listen... The box is empty now, but the sentiments and emotions triggered by the sight of the embodiment of mum's unending love and care filled me with pain and this dread of the coming few weeks when the whole world seems to pretend everything is fine and we are so nice and kind...
I smiled at the tree, and at my friend who Sat in the half darkness with his face illuminated by the colourful lights of the festive tree. He looked deep in thought. Perhaps thinking of his wife, of his other children, perhaps replaying scenes of Christmas as a child with the parents. There was a pensive quiet that wafted around the room, and the beautiful atmosphere of warmth and togetherness...
For a moment, we were bound together by this unspeakable loneliness.
