I cannot even begin to count the number of times I have written the words, ‘as you get older’ but here’s another. As you get older, each new Christmas really is a time for even more reflection than the last one.
As I am not fond of saying, I am now the oldest person in my immediate blood-related family. Both parents are long dead and my grandparents are even longer dead, one of whom died before I was even born. This is not a cry for self-pity; it is the recognition that we all grow old and we all die.
And in each passing year, we lose more people. These are not always family members, thank goodness, but there are friends and acquaintances in the Obituary columns. I am always reminded of my own mortality when I learn about the passing of those with whom I went to school when the news reaches me some time, even years, after. I learned just a few weeks ago, for example, that the boy with whom I had my greatest fight, in the playground at Holymead Junior School in Bristol, had died some time ago after a long battle with MS. At age 11, no one fought with Derward Roberts but he nicked my football one break time and I went to get it back. Unfortunately for me, a large crowd soon assembled and within a few minutes there was blood everywhere, almost all of which was mine. We were separated after far too long (in my opinion!) by some teachers and were taken to the cloak rooms. As I mopped up the blood from the red tap which was my nose, the two young boys smiled and that was that. There was no doubt who won the fight but from that day onwards, I never had trouble at school with the hard nuts and Derward and I would always have a good laugh when we met in later years. And now he’s gone. How very sad.
And there are others who have survived illnesses and those who haven’t. Those who died of natural causes, those who took their own lives. I remember when I was young believing that I would live forever, that the bad things always happened to someone else, that somehow I would never grow old. But looking in the mirror these days is something I would rather not do.
So where Christmas was a time when my family, or at least the part of it that lived in England, could get together, now it is a time to reflect on days gone by. My father died in 2011 and I cannot remember spending a single Christmas with him. Perhaps I did when I was small, but I have no memory of it and no photographs that might give me a clue. Now that is a regret. I would like, more than anything, to be with my dad for Christmas but the best I can do is to raise a glass to him and try and do better in my life.
I am, of course, very lucky compared to many people who have no one at Christmas. Radio Five Live ran a heartbreaking feature this week on loneliness and the numbers are truly horrendous. Yes, some people like being alone, but many others don’t. I was very depressed by the stories I was hearing. I like the solitude you can choose, not the solitude that is mapped out by the accident of your life and I can choose when to be alone and not.
I have no religious superstition but Christmas is one of the best times of the year and if it were balmy and warm it would be THE best time of the year bar none.
So on Christmas morning, before the traditional day of excess really gets underway, I shall spare a thought for those who are no longer in my life and try to smile in their memory. Feeling sad will not bring them back but hopefully there is something positive about celebrating a life lived.
