Today is Christmas Day. Am normally already up and scurrying around sorting out the turkey and beginning to prep all the vegetables. This year is different.
My big brother died of COVID in March, 17 days after his 63rd birthday. In a cruel twist, his COVID was confirmed on his birthday. So this is our first Christmas without him. And it will be tough.
Usually, I cook Christmas dinner for family and friends. I love doing it and I love the house being full of parents, uncles, cousins, kids, ex husband or three…
Nick would arrive with a box of mince pies, some cheese and some chai tea. We would give each other a big hug and he would say “Thanks for doing this, Snoo. You are an angel.”
Pandemonium would reign for most of the morning until lunch was ready to be served. I would have one small meltdown as the lunch was coming to its final readiness (i think my kids might not agree with my use of the word small). But once everyone had a plate of food, we pulled crackers and then ate. Last year, we were 13.
It’s good to bring up memories of past Christmases. The year he brought round Bob Dylan’s Christmas CD and my mum saying “Who is this dreary fellow?”; the year when there was a particularly heated discussion about religion; the year when my oven broke and we had to decamp to Nick and Jo’s house for lunch. Many memories.
This year, it has all gone pear-shaped. I miss Nick’s counselling as the wranglings about who goes where when and how. He would look at the nonsense and find the best solution. He was my peacemaker. In his absence, my parents are alone on Christmas Day. It will be a Christmas like no other.
I miss him so much.
Snoo's kitchen 